


Queen of No Kingdom

by Florence_in_Silver



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death Fix, Character Study, Dragons, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Fix-It, Fluff, For most characters, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Lore - Freeform, Mythology - Freeform, R Plus L Equals J, a little romance, a little thriller, season 8? i don't know her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2020-03-02 12:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 155,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18810490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florence_in_Silver/pseuds/Florence_in_Silver
Summary: How would Daenerys' story be different if she ran away the night before her wedding to Khal Drogo?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this after episode 8x04, and I was going to wait to publish it for awhile. After 8x05, though, I feel like we could all use a story where Dany doesn't go insane and murder thousands of people. I wrote it pretty quickly, so there may be a few mistakes, but hopefully it's still fun.  
> Also, this is more based in the book series than the show, because the books go more in depth on a lot of things and also just generally make more sense. There may be a few changes to character's ages and appearances because of that, but mostly they're the same characters you know and love from the show.  
> Dany is five in the prologue.

The lowest branch of the lemon tree was the hardest to reach. If she jumped, Dany could almost brush the underside of it with her fingertips, but she couldn’t quite grab on. She had to go and find a large stone from the courtyard and push it over to the base of the tree to stand on. Then she was able to wrap her hands around the branch, climb her feet up the trunk, and pull herself into the tree. Smiling, she took a deep breath of the scented air around her, smelling a mix of citrus, salt, and perfume. She loved that smell more than anything.

Still, she didn’t want to just sit there on the lowest branch all day. She wanted to climb the whole tree. She moved upward carefully through the branches, until she was almost level with the second story of the stone house. It wasn’t the tallest tree she had ever seen, but she was little, so it was more than big enough for her. There in the upper branches, she could look across the city, see the flash of brilliant blue of the sea, and beside the house, she could look over at the meadow she loved to run through.

“Daenerys!” called a voice.

She looked down through the leaves of the tree. Her brother, Viserys, was standing under it with his hands on his hips, glaring at her. He was getting very good at glaring. He had just turned thirteen years old, and knew everything, and loved reminding Dany that he knew everything.

“Get down from there,” he said. It was an order, not a request. He also loved to give orders, to her and to all the servants. 

For a moment, Dany wondered if she could just stay up in the tree, out of his reach. Viserys wasn’t exactly an avid tree climber, but he was tall and had long arms and legs, and she thought he would manage to reach her either way. She climbed down.

“What on earth are you doing up there? You are a princess of House Targaryen. You are the sister of the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. You are not to go about climbing trees like some penniless street urchin,” he said. He grabbed her hard on her forearm and dragged her through the red front door of the large house.

The stone floors were cold on her bare feet as he pulled her through the hallways and upstairs to one of the bedrooms.

“Ser Willem is very ill. You must keep him company while I run the household.” Viserys looked very self important as he said it, puffing out his chest like a rooster. 

Dany nodded. She would rather spend the day with Ser Willem than her brother. She went into the bedroom, moving as quietly as she could so as not to wake the sleeping knight.

Not long ago, Dany thought, Ser Willem was a hulking bear of a man, who used to carry her around over his shoulder as if she were no bigger than a cat, which, then again, she probably hadn’t been. He was a gruff, grumpy sort, who yelled at the servants, but he was always soft and kind when he spoke to Dany. He had been a big man, too, with leathery hands, but now, laid out on his sick bed, he looked frail and thin, and like his skin was turning to paper. His eyes were shut, but his chest still rose and fell as he breathed. Dany went over to sit in a chair next to him and took his big hand in hers.

Ser Willem opened his eyes and squinted at her. They used to be brown, but had turned milky white from his blindness. He squeezed her hand.

“Little Princess, is that you?” he asked.

“Yes, Ser Willem. Viserys told me to keep you company.”

“I’m glad to have it. Tell me what you have been doing today.”

Dany smiled and launched into her tale of how she had spent the morning running through the meadow beside the house, over to the little pond. There, she had managed to catch a fat brown frog that croaked at her and then peed in her hand.

Ser Willem laughed at that and teased her for holding his hand.

“I washed them, Ser, in the pond,” she insisted, but it just made him laugh harder, until his laughter dissolved into coughing. Dany ran out of the room to get a servant to help him.

The servant gave the old knight a mug full of a stinking liquid, but it seemed to soothe his cough. Soon he was asleep again. Dany sat by his bed for awhile longer, and then kissed his wrinkled forehead, and left the room.

***

The next day Ser Willem was dead and Dany’s world upended. The servants didn’t waste time raiding the house for any valuables, but Viserys managed to grab a bag full of their treasures: their mother’s crown, some of her jewelry, and a few gold coins. One of the cooks tried to pull the bag out of his hands, but he had bitten her hard on the arm. Some of the other servants grabbed Dany and Viserys both and threw them out onto the stone path of the courtyard. The red door of the house slammed shut, never to open for them again.

Dany felt her eyes burn as tears started to stream down her face. She tried to run back to the house, but Viserys took her hand and pulled her away.


	2. The Almost Wedding

_ For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo’s manse. _

Daenerys I, A Game of Thrones

***

After Braavos and Myr, Tyrosh and Qohor, Volantis and Lys, Daenerys and Viserys ended up in the coastal Free City of Pentos, living under the patronage of the magister, Illyrio Mopatis. Illyrio had once been a fine bravo swordsman of great skill and no wealth. Now he was wealthier than most could ever hope to be, and had grown so lazy and pampered that he could no more brandish a sword than he could fly. He was a cunning sort of man, a merchant, a businessman, and a constant flatterer of Viserys. He filled Viserys’ head with tales of victories and loyal subjects across the sea in Westeros. He said the commonfolk longed for their king’s return, and Viserys drank up every word like wine.

Dany had lived many places, and she had overheard how the servants and the poor in the Free Cities spoke of kings and magisters. She didn’t place much faith in Illyrio’s sickly sweet words. She was, however, grateful to him, for giving them a stable place to live. They had been in Pentos for over a year now, sheltered in the walls of the manse, attended to by Illyrio’s slaves - though he assured Dany they were not actually slaves, as slaves were illegal in Pentos. She said nothing to that. It wouldn’t matter much if she had. 

Things were changing, though, and Dany would soon be moving again. Illyrio and her brother had struck up a deal with a Dothraki horse lord who led a sizable hoard of mounted warriors. The Dothraki were renowned for their ferocity, their brutality. The Free Cities gave the hoards immense wealth each year to prevent the warriors from attacking them. Viserys saw the potential of the Dothraki in winning him his crown, and so he was selling Dany off as a bride to Khal Drogo, in exchange for the use of Drogo’s army.

Dany had met Drogo only once, at a party held in his own palatial manse in the city. The Dothraki were a physically impressive and intimidating lot, tall and muscular, with brown skin and thick black hair. Dany didn’t know whether the Dothraki women were equally as impressive as the men, because she had been the only woman there. When Illyrio pointed out Drogo to her, she saw that he towered over the best of them. He was huge, with a thick beard, a long braid, and a harsh gaze. He spoke none of the common tongue and very little Valyrian, and she spoke no Dothraki. He had walked over, looked Dany up and down and then said something to Illyrio.

“He is pleased with her. He would like to marry her as soon as the rest of his khalasar arrives,” said Illyrio to Viserys.

Viserys grinned like a weasel at them both.

“Excellent,” he said. “The sooner the better.”

Khal Drogo moved on to talk to others at the party, though he glanced over at Dany throughout the night, and each time he did, Viserys would pinch her behind the elbow and tell her to smile. She did. 

Illyrio took Viserys around the courtyard to meet other people, other khals, other prominent merchants of the Free Cities, and Dany followed along after them, not really saying much of anything. Most of the men there were dressed in fine silks and linen, but she spotted one in rougher cotton and leather, with the image of black bear stitched into his tunic.

“Ah, this is Ser Jorah Mormont, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms,” said Illyrio, introducing them. The man was in his forties, perhaps, with a weatherbeaten face and slight bald spot, but he carried himself well and looked strong.

“Viserys, I served under the reign of your father for many years. I look forward to once again serving the true king of Westeros,” he said with a bow.

Viserys puffed up at his words.

“What brings you across the sea, Ser?” Dany asked.

Illyrio’s eyebrows raised at that, and Viserys looked cross.

“I’m afraid the man who sits on the Iron Throne would rather like to chop off my head, as well,” said Ser Jorah carefully.

Illyrio began to tell Viserys of Ser Jorah’s crime, selling poachers off to Tyroshi slavers and getting banished from Westeros.

“Foolish law, really. A man should be able to do what he wants with his own property,” finished Illyrio.

Dany wanted to ask Ser Jorah more questions, but after her last outburst, she worried what Viserys would do to her if she spoke in front of the knight again. She stayed quiet, only politely answering any questions directed to her, which were few if any.

It wasn’t until she and Viserys were alone that she truly spoke again. Khal Drogo was watching her from across the courtyard, his eyes burning like black fire.

“I don’t want to marry him. Please, Viserys. Please. Can we go home?”

Viserys whirled on her. He looked around for a moment at the crowd around them and then pulled her away into an empty and shadowed corner of the courtyard.

“Go home? The usurper has taken our home from us and the only way to take it back is behind Khal Drogo’s army.”

Dany had only meant that she wanted to go back to their rooms in Illyrio’s manse, but Viserys’ anger was still building. He leaned forward and grabbed her forearms, digging in with his sharp fingers.

“I would let the khal fuck you, I’d let each and every one of his men fuck you, I’d even let their horses fuck you, if it put me back on my rightful throne. Be thankful it will only be Khal Drogo. Now dry your eyes, and smile for your new husband,” said Viserys, leading her back out to the party.

Dany noticed the knight, Ser Jorah, standing nearby, but he didn’t look up or say anything to them as they passed him.

***

There were a few quiet days after that. Khal Drogo moved out of the manse to stay with his khalasar on the plains outside of the city. He let Dany and Viserys move in and make use of the manse’s servants and Unsullied guards. The Unsullied were a grim bunch. They didn’t smile or laugh or make much of any sort of expression. They only glared out, unmoving from their posts around the manse. Viserys had told Dany in graphic detail about the training and the castration of the Unsullied, but she didn’t like to think about it. 

Ser Jorah often came by the manse, but he mostly spoke with Viserys and Illyrio, telling them stories of the Seven Kingdoms as they all drank sweet wine together. He did, however, once ask Dany for her age.

“Thirteen,” she told him.

His eyes were unreadable, so she wasn’t sure what answer he had been expecting.

Then Illyrio came with news that the full khalasar had arrived to the plains outside of Pentos, and that the wedding would occur in two days time. Dany felt her chest tighten with fear, but she didn’t dare ask Viserys to call off the wedding again.

***

First, there was an engagement party, held at the manse and attended by much of the same crowd as Dany had seen at the party where she had met Drogo. This time, however, it was held in the wide dining hall instead of out in the moonlit courtyard. She and Khal Drogo sat together on a raised dais, with his bloodriders standing in front of them. Viserys, Illyrio, and Jorah were seated at the front table, a place of honor, though Viserys looked annoyed that Dany was placed higher than him. At least some women were present this time, though they all seemed to be dancers and servants.

Illyrio had told her that the engagement party was not a Dothraki tradition, but had been agreed upon because many of the masters and merchants of Pentos were nervous about attending a Dothraki wedding.

“Why would they be nervous?” Dany had asked him.

“Well, if less than three people die at Dothraki wedding, it is considered to be a very dull affair indeed. And Drogo is a prominent khal, so his wedding is expected to be most exciting.”

Viserys had laughed at that.

“It will give the Pentoshi a chance to honor you both with gifts. Then tomorrow at the wedding the Dothraki themselves will give you gifts. Drogo’s bloodriders will give you weapons, which you must then give to Drogo, of course. And Drogo himself will give you a gift, usually a horse from what I understand,” Illyrio had said.

Now, sitting on the dais in Pentos, Dany didn’t want to imagine how much more afraid she would be at the actual wedding ceremony out on the plains, watching at least three Dothraki die to make the event exciting. She was already trembling and having to force herself to keep from crying. She didn’t want to see Viserys’ or Khal Drogo’s reaction if she did start to cry, so she kept her tears to herself.

The upper class of Pentos began one by one to approach the dais and present Dany and Drogo with many fine gifts, which were then taken away by servants. Some of the people Dany had met before through Illyrio, but all their faces and their gifts began to blur together over time. There were silks and furs, jewelry of silver, gold, and fine gemstones, spices, perfumes, and wine. It felt like a mountain of treasures was being given to her, more than she could ever use in one lifetime.

Then Ser Jorah approached the dais.

“I was going to give these to you tomorrow at the wedding, but I thought you might like them sooner. I’m sorry I can’t give you more, princess, but it is all a poor exile could afford,” he said, and he handed her three leatherbound books. She opened one to look and found it to be written in the common tongue.

“Thank you, Ser,” she said, and she meant it. She liked the books far more than all the perfumes and silks. She put them away next to her chair.

Viserys was next. He held out his arm and three young women walked forward to kneel before the dais. Two of them looked to be Dothraki, with copper skin and shiny hair, and about the same age as Dany. The other was a little older, with blonde hair and blue eyes.

“Handmaidens, for the new khaleesi,” said Viserys proudly. Dany knew that it had actually been Illyrio’s work to get them for her. “But not just any handmaidens. Irri here will teach you to ride horses, Jhiqui will teach you to speak Dothraki, and Doreah will teach you the art of love. She’s very good, I can attest.” He gestured to the blonde girl as he said it.

“Thank you, Brother,” said Dany. The handmaidens came to sit on the floor next to her padded seat.

The final gift came from Illyrio. Two servants carried a heavy chest between them and set it before her. They opened the lid to show the contents to Dany and the khal.

Inside, on a bed of silks, lay three shiny eggs, each about the size of her head. They were covered in scales which reflected the light of the torches and lamps around them. One was black as obsidian and streaked through with waves of scarlet. The second was a deep green with bronze running through it. The last was like cream with flecks of gold. She reached forward and picked up the green one, finding it heavier than she expected. She ran her fingers over the rough scales, entranced.

“Three dragon eggs, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai. Over the years they have turned to stone, lifeless, but still beautiful. A reminder of your family’s great power,” said Illyrio.

Dany had a hard time tearing her eyes away from the eggs, but she did so to thank Illyrio.

There were many gifts for Drogo, as well, weapons and horse gear mostly, but Dany paid little attention to them. She couldn’t help but spend the rest of the evening watching the light dance on the shiny surface of the eggs, to see the fire reflected in their depths.

***

That night the handmaidens helped get her ready for the following day. They laid out her fine lilac gown, brushed her silvery hair until her head was sore, and put away her gifts. Most of the treasures had already been taken out to the khalasar, but the books and the eggs stayed with Dany. They were her most precious gifts.

The handmaidens chatted as they worked, but Dany didn’t join in with their conversation. She felt a gnawing, churning feeling in her stomach and all she could think about was how much she wished the next day would never come. 

The smaller of the Dothraki women, Irri, seemed the first to notice Dany’s discomfort. She went and got one of the books from Ser Jorah. As she picked it up, a slip of parchment fell out. Irri grabbed it from the floor and looked over it.

“A note of congratulations from the knight,” she said, putting the note away in a different book, before handing the first one to Dany. “Read this. Maybe you will feel better.”

Dany nodded and opened the book, trying to focus on the story of brave knights and lovely maidens.

Jhiqui began to tell them all that she had heard about Khal Drogo and his khalasar. She had a quick, nervous sort of energy, and talked very quickly, but she spoke the common tongue well. She was taller than both Doreah and Irri, and a little awkward, as if she grown suddenly upwards and had not yet figured out how to move in her new body. Eventually Irri nudged her and changed their subject of conversation to horses. Doreah knew nothing about them, so the two Dothraki girls began giving her a quick lesson on how to ride.

“I think our khaleesi is tired,” said Doreah, after a time, watching Dany’s eyes droop.

“Yes, I think I’ll go to bed. Thank you. I’ll see you all in the morning,” she said.

They all bowed and retreated to their rooms. Dany got up and went over to the window of her bedroom and opened it. The air of Pentos was warm, even at night, and there was a pleasant breeze. She looked down at the courtyard below, wondering if she would die if she jumped, or just be terribly maimed. Perhaps she could climb upward and then fall. Then at least she wouldn’t have to get married tomorrow. She took a deep breath and closed the window.

That night she dreamed of dragons that swallowed up horses whole.

***

Dany felt a hand over her mouth and jerked awake, feeling a clench of fear until she saw that it was Irri who woke her. The room was unlit, but there was still enough of a moon for her to see.

“Shhh,” said Irri, still covering Dany’s mouth.

Dany reach up and pulled her hand away.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I lied,” said Irri. 

Dany frowned at that. She couldn’t remember Irri having much of a chance to lie. They hadn’t known each other long.

“About the note. From Ser Jorah.” Irri went and pulled it out from the book to give to Dany. 

Dany went to the window to read it in the moonlight.

_ Meet me in the southern garden, beside the swan fountain. I can help you escape this fate. I will wait through the hours of the night, but you must come before sunrise. _

Dany felt her heartbeat speed up as she read through the note. She looked up at Irri.

“I used to be part of Khal Moro’s khalasar. He had a wife even younger than you and I saw what was done to her. And he was killed by Khal Drogo, who was much stronger. I think you would be better to go with the knight,” said Irri. She reached out and took Dany’s hand.

Dany nodded. 

Irri went and got some simple pants and a tunic for Dany to change into and braided her hair to keep it out of the way. Dany grabbed a leather rucksack and began to put the dragon eggs inside.

“They are too heavy,” whispered Irri.

“They’re worth it. Dragon eggs are precious. I can sell them if I need to,” said Dany, knowing she would never part with them. 

“I might be able to sneak you out through the servant’s hallways,” said Irri. Dany shook her head, though. Irri didn’t know the manse very well, but Dany had lived there for a week, and knew enough.

“No, I’ll climb out the window. I’m good at climbing.” Dany paused, looking out at the bright moon.

“You could come with me,” she said after a moment.

Irri paused, thinking about it.

“No, I will go with the khalasar. But I hope to see you again, Princess.”

“Just Dany. And thank you.” She gave Irri’s hands a squeeze, put on the rucksack and climbed out the window to begin her descent down the brick face of the building. The dragon eggs were truly heavy, and she wondered if, after all this, she would just slip and fall and die anyway. The thought made her shiver and one of her hands slipped off the brick, but she managed to catch herself on another. They stuck out enough that it wasn’t too difficult of a climb. Still, she was relieved when at last her feet touched the ground. The courtyard was empty at night, but she knew there were guards patrolling the walls and the manse itself. She kept to the shadows, creeping along the side of the wall until she reached the southern garden.

It took her a moment to find Ser Jorah, who was sitting still beneath the gloom of a great tree. He stood when he saw her and she ran over to him. He held a finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet. She knew.

“We need to wait for the guard to change, then we can sneak out the servant’s door. Wait here. I’ll come get you when the time has come,” he said softly.

She went to sit under the tree. In her nervousness, it was hard for her to measure how much time had passed. She tried to watch the moon, but she couldn’t focus on it. Her shoulders began to ache from the weight of the sack, but she didn’t dare take it off.

Finally Ser Jorah returned and waved for her to follow him. They went out of the garden, moving along the wall, until they reached a small wooden door. Jorah unbolted the heavy iron lock and they slipped out onto the streets of Pentos. 

Dany felt like she didn’t breathe until they were well out of sight of the manse and its wall, moving west across the city, out of the neighborhoods where the magisters lived and into the merchant district.

At one point, Jorah took her arm and pulled her into an alley, taking out a knife. Dany’s heart nearly stopped as he did so. Had she been completely stupid to trust him?

“I’m going to put you on a boat to Sunspeare in Dorne, but boats are not always safe for young girls. I’m going to cut your hair and you’ll tell them you’re a boy. Alright? You’re Malys of Lys. You’re going to Westeros to study as a maester.”

Dany nodded, still breathing heavily. Jorah took the dagger and sliced off her braid with one cut. He then cut the longer pieces until her hair was short and choppy all over.

“When you get to Dorne, you’ll go find Prince Oberyn Martell. He supports the Targaryens, and I believe he and his brother, Prince Doran, will protect you. Do you remember that? Prince Oberyn and Prince Doran. Tell no one else who you are.”

She repeated the names back to him. He nodded and gave her another look over, as if seeing if she looked boyish enough.

“Better change clothes, too. You don’t want to look too wealthy,” he said. He handed her some rough woven breeches and a shirt and then turned his back while she changed. Viserys had always insulted her boyish frame and her lack of breasts, but now she was thankful for them. Once she was changed they continued on their way to the docks of Pentos. 

Many ships were floating the bay and many more were tied to the docks. Even at this time of night, there was plenty of activity of men unloading and loading ships, carrying the goods off to their bosses. Jorah led them to a large brigantine, which from the smell of it, was carrying livestock cargo. A tall Braavosi man stood in front of the ship, lightly resting a hand on his rapier.

“Captain Lito,” said Jorah to greet him.

“Jorah the Andal, my friend,” said the captain with a smile. He looked Dany up and down and stroked his mustache a little. “This is the young man?”

“Malys,” said Dany, trying to lower the register of her voice.

“Why do you rush to leave Pentos?”

“He had some trouble with one of the magisters. The boy insulted his wife and the magister wanted his tongue cut out for it, so I think it’s best to send him on to Westeros. He’s artless, but he’s clever. He’ll make a good maester someday,” said Jorah.

“I thought of being a maester once, you know. But the thought of living out my life as a celibate is nearly as bad as the thought of living it in Westeros,” laughed the captain. He held out his hand and Ser Jorah gave him a sack of coins. Dany knew the knight didn’t have much money, so this was either the last of his stores or he had stolen it. Either way, Dany was grateful.

“Right, boy. Up you go,” said the captain with a nod. Dany walked up the slippery gangplank, giving one last look back at Ser Jorah before she climbed onto the ship’s deck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene where Dany meets Drogo and Jorah pretty closely follows what happens in the book, A Game of Thrones.


	3. Overboard

The Braavosi crew had been transporting cattle from Qohor to sell in Pentos, a special breed known for the tenderness of their meat. They had sold most of them off, traded them for silks and spices, which they would then take to Dorne. The smell of the cattle lingered, though, as did two red heifers that they were taking along to Sunspear, hoping to open up a new trade with the Dornish. They put Dany below deck, in the hull with the cows, where the air was stuffy and stank of cow shit. They gave her a bucket to use as a chamberpot, brought her some food, and told her to stay quiet and out of the way. She did. In a way she was glad of the privacy. She still wasn’t sure she made a very convincing boy.

Dany did wish she had brought along one of the books from Ser Jorah to pass the time and to distract her from the sea sickness. The captain told her it would take about a week to sail down to Sunspear, and that was a long time to spend in a small room with only cows for company. 

Instead, Dany spent the days staring into the dragon eggs, memorizing each streak of color and every rough scale. They fascinated her more than anything she had ever seen. She could only imagine what it must have been like before the last of the dragons died, to see the likes of Balerion the Black Dread or Vhagar flying across the sky. Her ancestors had ridden them in battle, the dragons that had survived the Doom of Valyria, but then eventually, even the Targaryen dragons had died. Viserys was eight when he and their pregnant mother had fled King’s Landing, and he remembered the castle and the dragon skulls that were kept inside it. He had told her that Balerion’s skull was so big he could have swallowed a horse and rider whole. Dany wished she could have seen them, too.

One of the cows snorted and started stomping its hooves nervously, pulling Dany’s gaze away from the cream colored egg. She quickly put it away in the rucksack. She didn’t have a porthole to look out of, but she, too, could feel a shift in the motion of the boat. They must be pulling into the dock at Sunspeare.

The captain had told her to stay in the hull, but she found her curiosity getting the better of her. She wanted to see her first glimpse of Westeros, the land of her parents and her brother. She put on her rucksack and crept out of the little room in the hull. There were sounds of activity and shouting above her, as the crew all worked on deck, leaving the understories empty. She moved as quietly as she could up the stairs, past the captain’s and crew’s quarters, until she could see the sky above her at last. She didn’t emerge fully onto the deck, but stayed hidden in the stairwell, breathing in the chilled salty air and watching the gray clouds.

It was a bit strange, though. Everyone had told her that the sunshine in Dorne was unrelenting and the air was hot and thick. Here it felt crisp and damp. As she waited, her view of the sky was suddenly obstructed by a massive stone figure. Her eyes went wide as she recognized it. The ship was passing under a colossal statue that guarded the lagoon, the Titan of Braavos. They weren’t in Dorne. They had gone north, to Braavos, and Dany had been too stupid to realize it.

She tried not to make noise as she felt fear clamp down on her chest and her breathing increased. She needed to think. She had to think. 

Then she heard it. Amidst all the shouts and cries of nautical terms that she didn’t understand, a word jumped out at her from one of the crew.

“Targaryen.”

They knew who she was. Of course they did. With her silver hair, violet eyes, and rather unconvincing portrayal of a young lad, who else could she be. Her heart felt like it was going to break through her ribs, it was beating so hard.

_ You are Daenerys Targaryen. You are the blood of Rhaenys the dragon rider, the blood of Old Valyria _ , she told herself.

The Titan slipped out of her view as the ship moved beyond it. She crouched, tense as a cat, building up her courage. Then she moved, hoping surprise would be enough. She ran up the stairs and out onto the slippery deck. She didn’t stop to look around, but went straight toward the rail, when she was yanked back as a hand grabbed her pack. She whirled, and remembering what Viserys had done to the servants who had tried to steal their mother’s crown, she bit down hard on the man’s arm. He howled and slapped her down, but she managed to roll back up onto her feet. Two more steps and she was scrambling onto the rail. She leapt, falling down into the cold waters of the Braavos lagoon.

With the eggs in her rucksack, she sank down like an anchor, over fifteen feet down to rocky floor of the lagoon. Her ears stung with pain from the pressure, but she could still she the shadow of the ship above her. The islands across which the Titan statue stood were close, though. She shrugged off her pack and swam as hard as she could for the nearest island, her lungs beginning to burn as she went. There was a smaller rock, just a crag really, jutting upward and closer to her than the rocky shores of the island itself. She made it there and pushed herself upward along the rock face, until at last she broke the surface, gasping for air. 

The ship was out of sight from where she hid. She wanted to peer around to look at it, but she forced herself to stay frozen in place where she was, with nothing to do but pray to every god she knew of, the Seven who were worshipped in Westeros, the Lord of Light, the Lion of Night, and the Weeping Lady of Lys, that the crew and captain would think she had drowned. Noble ladies weren’t supposed to know how to swim after all. 

It took what felt like hours, but the ship never came towards the island, and when eventually she looked out from her hiding spot, she saw it had moved on toward the docks. Only then, when the fear subsided a little, did she realize how cold she was. It was still early in the day and the sun was hidden behind the thick clouds.

Dany looked back at the island behind her. The ocean side of the islands had steep cliff faces that the waves broke against, but in the calmer waters of the lagoon, the slopes were more gentle, possible to climb. First though, she had to get her eggs. There was no way she could carry all three, but perhaps one at a time, she could do it. She paddled over to the spot where she had fallen in, and dove downward. The waters around Braavos were cold and uncomfortable, but at least they were fairly clear. It took her only three dives to locate the rucksack on the bottom of the lagoon. She swam down to it, ignoring the feeling of her ears starting to throb again, and pulled the cream and the green egg out, placing them carefully as she could on the sea floor. She put on the rucksack and pushed upwards, kicking as hard as she could to lift the stone-like egg. She made it to the surface and swam over to the island, already feeling exhausted as she collapsed on the rough shore of it.

Just two more to go.

She took a deep breath and took out the black egg, leaving it on the island as she went back for the others.

It took the better part of the morning, but at last she was able to fall onto the beach with the final egg. She was a fair swimmer, but never before had she had to carry so much and hold her breath for so long. Her lungs and every muscle in her body ached, though the activity had warmed her up a bit. All she wanted to do was fall asleep, but she supposed this was not the safest place to do so. Instead, she sat up, wrapped her arms around herself, and looked up across the lagoon at the city itself.

She had thought that the house with the red door from her childhood had been in Braavos, but now as she looked at the gray stone city, she was beginning to doubt that. In her memories the house had been in a warm place with air that smelled of lemon and bright sunshine. Here, Braavos was full of fog and mist and the air smelled of brine and fish. It didn’t look like a lemon tree could ever grow there. She must have remembered it wrong. The house with the red door was elsewhere in the world.

***

It was late in the afternoon when a small fishing boat rowed under the Titan and passed the island. Dany was so cold and sore that she didn’t much care if the fishermen would sell her to the usurper or chop her into bait, she just wanted to be warm again. She stood and waved to them and they paddled over.

“Are you lost, boy?” asked the older of the two men, speaking in the bastard Valyrian tongue of the Free Cities. She spoke High Valyrian, but it was close enough.

“I fell off my ship,” she told them. “Can you take me to shore?”

“We can,” he told her.

She waded out to the boat and they pulled her up and into it.

“Lord o’ Light, that’s heavy. What are you carrying in that pack? Rocks?” asked the older man.

Dany nodded. She was too tired to come up with a better lie and they didn’t question her too much, nor did they offer up much information about themselves. She assumed by looking at them, at their shared broad faces and curly black hair, that they were father and son. The son was maybe a few years older than her, though much taller and bigger in the shoulders. He didn’t speak much at all, but he did all the rowing.

“We’ll drop you at Ragman’s. You can make your way from there,” said the father.

Ragman’s Harbor lay on the west side of the city, alongside the poorer side of town. The wealthy local ships could dock in Purple Harbor to the north, but the foreigners and the poor had to use Ragman’s. The little boat wove in between the larger sailing vessels in the harbor until it reach the algae-coated dock. Dany scrambled out and thanked the two men, who only nodded to her and continued on their way up one of the city’s many canals.

Dany didn’t know quite where to go, so she just started walking, making her way down the stone pathways and over the bridges that spanned the canals. Everything about the city was gray and deary, from the buildings and the bridges to the sea and sky. It actually made her long for the warm air and the lavish comfort she had back in Pentos, but she would have had to leave Pentos either way. At least now she was far away from Khal Drogo and his frightening hoard of warriors. And at least her clothes were finally beginning to dry.

Some of the people she passed looked her over a little too carefully. She wasn’t sure if they were thinking of robbing her, or if they were noticing her silver hair, as the captain of the ship had. The buildings in this neighborhood were crooked and crammed close together, as if the only thing keeping them upright was being able to lean on each other. There was no space between them for alleys to hide in. She passed a pile of trash that had been tossed out in the path. Mostly it was moldy bread and stinking fish bones, but she there was some ash and burnt out charcoal, as well. She dug up a handful of the blackened ash and began to rub it into her hair. She crushed the charcoal between her two hands and added some of that to her face and hands, as well, thinking about what Jorah said about not wanting to look too rich.

The smell of warm garlic hit her as she continued on, and she stopped walking. She hadn’t eaten all day and her mouth started to water instantly. She followed her nose across a bridge and down a street of taverns, stopping in front of one called the Black Bargeman. It was dimly lit and ramshackle looking, but the smell of food was too good to resist. She went inside, trying to ignore the men who stared at her from behind their ale mugs.

“What do you want, then? You look dirty enough to attract every fly in the city,” asked the innkeep.

“Can I have some food, please?” She did her best to sound like a boy. She even squinted her eyes at the man, as she had seen boys do to each other.

“Coin first,” said the man with a grunt.

“I don’t have an-”

“Then get out! Little urchin. I’m not running a charity house here.”

“Please, I can work for it. I can clean or fetch water.” Dany was beginning to realize she had very little idea what servants actually did. She just wanted to eat so badly. The innkeep was not looking convinced.

“Benelio, give her a plate. I’ll pay,” called a voice from the corner. 

Dany looked over to see three people sitting and watching her, a Braavosi man in a bright yellow shirt, a Tyroshi with blue hair, and a slender woman with black skin from the Summer Islands. It was the Braavosi who spoke, and he grinned at her now and motioned for her to come over.

“What’s your name, boy?” he asked.

“Da-Darry,” she stuttered out.

“Dirty Darry,” said the Tyroshi man. When he smiled, Dany could see one of his front two teeth had been cracked in half.

“Where are you from, boy?” asked the Summer Islander, her voice warmer than the two men.

“Lys. But I’ve travelled all over. My father was a merchant.”

“And where’s your father now?” The Braavosi leaned forward a little as he asked it.

“He died.”

“And left you all alone.” He clicked his tongue a little. “Well, I’ll make you a deal, boy. I’ll buy you dinner. I’ll even get you a room in the inn. And all you need to do is help me with a little favor. I need someone of your size and ability to fit through small openings. Do we have a deal?” He held out his hand.

The innkeep, Benelio, brought out a plate of bread with garlic and soft white cheese, and Dany reached out and shook the man’s hand. He pulled over a chair for her and she sat and began ripping into the bread with her hands.

“Ah, forgive my rudeness, we have not even introduced ourselves. My name is Ameto Quoti, and my companions, Kasala and Tae Pogarto.” The Braavosi nodded first to the Summer Islander and then the Tyroshi.

Dany probably should have been more polite, and spoken to them more, but the food was so good that she barely looked up and nodded before she went back to eating.

***

The room at the inn was small, damp, and smoky, set right above the kitchen on the second floor. In it was only a small cot with a thin mattress. The floorboards creaked under her feet as she moved around, and she hoped they wouldn’t completely give way and send her crashing through the floor. The old boards were easy to pry up, however, giving her a place to stash her dragon eggs out of sight. After she put the boards back in place and hammered them back down as best she could with her boot, she pushed the bed over it.

Ameto had told her that they would not need her until the following night, so she spent the next day wondering about the neighborhood, trying to teach herself the layout of the place. She had travelled many places with Viserys throughout her childhood and had seen the majority of the nine Free Cities, but never before had she seen them quite like this. She and Viserys had always lived off their family name, from the charity of the wealthy of Essos, who were fascinated to have Targaryens living with them. Once the elite were done showing off Dany and Viserys to their society friends, they had always grown bored and annoyed, and then the two would have to move on to the next place. The neighborhood off Ragman’s Harbor, called the Salthouse, was not the poorest neighborhood in Braavos - that honor was reserved for Drowned Town - but it was close. The streets were full of hollow-cheeked old beggars and dirty children who snuck their fingers into the pockets of sailors and ran off with their coins. The sailors, dockworkers, and bravos swordsmen all swaggered down the streets. They came to the Salthouse for the brothels and taverns and to pick fights with each other. With her ashy hair and dirty face, Dany fit in well to the scene.

That night, Kasala picked Dany up in a long canoe made of lacquered wood. Many of the canals were too narrow for oars, so instead she used a long pole to push them along. They moved north, out of the Salthouse and into a neighborhood where the residents had painted over the gray stone of their houses with bright purples, pinks, and greens. There, they passed a rocky hill with a tall and windowless building with black and white doors. 

“That’s the House of Black and White, where the Faceless Men live,” said Kasala.

Viserys had told Dany about the Faceless Men before. They were the most renowned and expensive assassins in the world. He used to say the usurper’s assassins were always after them, but Dany knew the reputation of the Faceless. If they were after Viserys, he would be dead.

“Valar morghulis,” said Dany as they passed.

Kasala chuckled.

The boat turned east and the houses grew bigger and farther apart, and the neighborhood quieter. Some of them even had small courtyards and gardens around them. Kasala pulled the canoe up to the stone pathway and tied it in place. She jumped out with the grace of a cat and then held out a hand to help Dany stumble out. She nodded for Dany to follow her and led her through the pathways until they stopped out front of a large square house with a high stone wall in front of it. Ameto and Tae were already there, with Ameto keeping lookout, his hand held lazily on the hilt of his rapier, and Tae squating on the ground. It took Dany a moment to realize what Tae was doing. There was a small water drain at the base of the wall, a rectangular space of about two feet wide and one foot tall, with bars over it. Tae was currently sawing the bars off with a metal file, creating a space in the hole. 

“Think that’ll do?” he asked.

“His shoulders look scrawny enough. In you go, Darry,” said Ameto to Dany.

“What do I have to do?” she asked.

“Crawl through the hole and open the front gate, simple as that.”

Dany wanted to ask more questions, but Ameto wasn’t looking very receptive. Perhaps it was better if she didn’t know. Instead, she lay down on her belly and shimmied her way through the hole, scraping herself on the jagged stumps of the bars as she went. There were no candles lit in the house and no guards in the courtyard. Still, she was nervous, she crept as quietly as she could to the solid iron gate, removed the bar across it, and pushed it open. The three slipped into the courtyard.

“Now, run along back to the inn,” said Kasala.

Dany frowned. She had been expecting to get a ride back in the canoe, as they had travelled halfway across town at least. She didn’t want to argue, though, so she turned in the direction they had come from and began walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shame Arya's not in Braavos yet, then they could cross paths. Maybe later in the story...


	4. Braavos

 

Dany had lived in Braavos for a month, and she had collected one iron coin from Braavos, one Westerosi silver stag, and three copper pennies, not nearly enough to buy passage on a ship to Dorne. It seemed like only the prostitutes made good money in the Salthouse. Still, Dany had food to eat and a room to sleep in, over the Black Bargeman’s kitchen, and of course she had her three dragon eggs hidden under the floor. Selling one could easily give her enough gold to buy a ship and crew, but she refused to sell them. She took them out from time to time, and ran her fingers over their scales, unable to bear the thought of losing even one. 

There were plenty of small jobs for her to do, usually for Ameto, though sometimes he loaned her out to others. Some days she sold trinkets for them, sometimes she pulled things out of pockets, and sometimes she simply followed people and listened to them and then told what they said. In exchange, they would give her a penny, and she would usually have to spend it right away to keep her room or to buy food. She thought she should probably eat less and save more coins, but she was already so small. She was nearly fourteen years old, but Ameto and the others all thought she was a scrawny boy of nine or so.

Today, Tae Pogarto had sent her to a wealthier neighborhood than the Salthouse, with a little cart full of silver candlesticks, cutlery, and boxes to sell, and a small knife just in case anyone tried to steal from her. She knew Tae had stolen the items and only hoped that the owners would not pass by and recognize their belongings. She pushed the cart into a popular little plaza in front of a temple of R'hllor, and began to shout for buyers, as she had seen the other sellers of curios do. She held up the finest candlestick in the air to show the passersby. 

Tae had told her to stay until each was sold, so she stood in the plaza as the sun went down, trying to sell off her last three items. She was haggling with an old man, trying to get him to buy a tarnished silver spoon, when a hand closed around her forearm and yanked her around.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you, sweet sister?”

Viserys stood before her, wearing a cruel smile on his thin face. His hair looked stringier and his clothes more worn than when she had last seen him, but the hungry, crazed look in his eyes was all too familiar. He called it “waking the dragon” whenever he got like this. The old man had disappeared, leaving the two of them to finish their conflict alone.

“Do you have any idea how angry Khal Drogo was? Do you? He nearly cut off my head when he found out you had gone. Illyrio had to repay every gift from the khal and give him all of your bride gifts to quell his anger. But I promise you, sweet sister, that anger is nothing compared to what I am feeling now.”

Dany tried to pull back from him, but he slapped her hard across the face.

“It wasn’t until some Braavosi ship lord sent word to Illyrio that we found out where you were. He thought you had died, but I knew better. I knew you had to be alive, so I could get my just revenge for the dishonor you have given me. You and that traitorous knight,” Viserys was practically spitting his words at her.

“What happened to Ser Jorah?”

“The Dothraki don’t know he was the one who helped you escape, so he fled Pentos with them. But I will find him. I’ll tell the khal about his crime and he’ll cut off his head instead. But you. I’ll have to figure out what to do with you.”

Dany looked across the market. The people were giving the two of them a wide berth, not wanting to involve themselves, but she did spot a familiar face in the crowd. He was a bravo that she had seen drinking with Tae, Ameto, and Kasala at the tavern. She couldn’t remember his name, but she remembered Kasala saying the man was a fine swordsman.

“Hey, this man is trying to steal from Tae Pogarto,” she shouted. She was getting better at speaking the Braavosi dialect, but Viserys looked confused by her words. He made a point of only speaking High Valyrian, and never the dialects of the Free Cities.

The bravo frowned and walked over to them.

“He’s trying to steal Tae’s silver,” said Dany, holding up the spoon.

The man raised his chin, appraising Viserys.

“Let go of the boy,” he said. Viserys didn’t seem to understand, but he was annoyed enough at being interrupted.

“Listen here, do you know who I am?” he said in High Valyrian. He let go of Dany and put his hand on the hilt of his sword, a great clunky thing borrowed from Illyrio.

In Braavos, the mere touch of a sword hilt after dark could be taken as a challenge, and the bravo did take it that way. He drew his own rapier and stood sideways, in the Braavosi form of water dancing.

“How dare you,” said Viserys, pulling out his sword, seemingly emboldened by the size of it compared to the bravo’s.

It was all over very quickly. Viserys swung once. The bravo ducked away and stabbed Viserys through the chest.

“No,” said Viserys, pale eyes going wide. He coughed and a spurt of blood came out, and then fell to his knees.

“I am the last dragon.” He fell forward and blood began to leak out around him onto the gray stones.

The bravos never bothered anyone without a sword, but they were quick to fight those who challenged them.

“Thank you,” said Dany, feeling a little numb.

“Dump his body in the canal. Someday you should learn the dance. Then you can protect yourself, boy,” said the bravo, wiping his blade clean with a flourish and sheathing it. Dany just thanked him again.

A few people had gathered to watch the fight, but they departed, seeming disappointed by its shortness. Dany kneeled on the ground next to Viserys and pushed him over onto his back. There was blood around his mouth and chest and his eyes were still wide open. She closed them. He was a thin man, but taller than Dany, and it took her two tries to lift him enough to push into her cart. Tae had given her a sheet to hide the silver from view as she walked, which she used now to cover the body. Some blood stained through, but it was dark enough now that it wasn’t too recognizable. She pushed him out of the plaza and over to the nearest canal, and hesitated.

It seemed a grim funeral to be dropped into the dirty waters of the canal, even for so wretched a man as Viserys. He was her brother, after all. Instead, she dropped the leftover silver into the water, not wanting to wait to sell it.

She pushed the cart with the body back to the Salthouse and the Black Bargeman, where Tae Pogarto was waiting for her. She left the cart outside and when over to him. He held out his hand and she gave him the coins from the sale.

“You aren’t keeping any back?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Fine.” He handed her a copper penny. 

She went up to her room and pried up the floorboards. She pulled out her rucksack with the eggs and picked up all her saved coins, which she then put into her boot, with the few that she had kept back from Tae. She went down to the kitchens and bought some bread and cheese, slipped the flint and steel by the fireplace into her pocket, and then back outside to begin pushing the cart southeast, heading for the Sealord’s Bridge, the only one to connect the islands of the city to the mainland behind the lagoon. It was a long walk to the bridge and Viserys was heavy in the cart, but she didn’t stop.

The moon was full over the Sealord’s Bridge when she arrived, though it was not the only bright light in a sky. A bright comet with a red tail streaked slowly across the night sky like a chariot leaving a trail of blood in its wake. It glinted off the window panes and the shined armor of the men who guarded the bridge. They were pointing up at it, fascinated, and each one taking a guess as to what the comet meant. They were distracted from their duty of checking those coming into the city, though, and barely gave Dany a second look as she left it. 

Beyond the bridge was a stone road that soon turned into a dirt road. Most people moved around the Free Cities by boat. There were roadways that connected Braavos to Norvos and Pentos, but they were rarely used and said to be quite dangerous. Still, Dany didn’t need to go far on them, just far enough to bury Viserys. Or burn him. She hadn’t quite decided yet.

The lands were marshy and the road muddy for the first hour that she walked, but slowly they dried up and turned into fields as she moved farther from the lagoon. The air began to smell cleaner, as well, without the constant smoke and salt of the city. There were a few scattered farms beginning to pop up, mostly with goats or chickens. The soil didn’t seem rich enough for much crop growing. It was rocky and shallow, with short bluffs and cliff faces breaking up the usable land.

At last, Dany found a grassy meadow that seemed like the right spot. It reminded her a bit of the one beside the house with the red door, though there was no pond in this one. The cart was hard to push through the thick grass and rocky ground, but she managed, forcing it forward until she reached a grove of trees. She leaned against one and slid down to sit on its roots. She’d just rest for a moment and then get to work on the funeral pyre.

***

When Dany woke up, the sun was high in the sky and Viserys’ body was beginning to attract flies. The comet had faded a little in the harsh daylight, but still it shown, moving steadily toward the west. She stood and swatted at the flies, though it did little good. Her muscles felt stiff and sore after the night of walking and the morning spent sleeping on the hard ground. She didn’t want to wait for Viserys to smell even worse, though, so she got to work. 

She started with all the tree branches she could find on the ground and then moved on to snapping the live branches off the trees. She laid out a bed of twigs and wood and then grabbed the dryest grasses and dead leaves she could find, adding that on top. She pulled Viserys from the cart, causing the body to fall in a heap on the ground. Dany wanted to give her brother a proper farewell into the next life, though she supposed he probably deserved a little bit of disrespect along the way. She dragged him onto the small pyre and arranged his arms over his chest. His sword was still back in Braavos, so she couldn’t put it in his hands, and she didn’t want to give him her only knife, so he would have to travel to the beyond without a weapon. Then she went and got the dragon eggs out of the cart and laid them beside him. She felt Viserys needed something of their family’s legacy in his funeral, and dragon eggs were formed to withstand fires. She would pick them out of the ashes once the fire had burned out.

After she was done, Dany sat next to the pyre, not quite ready to light it yet.

“Viserys,” she said, and then paused, not quite knowing what to say next. Eventually though, she continued. “I have no sorrow in your death. You brought it on yourself, you know. After everything we had been through together, you sold me for a throne, for a chance of a throne. Had it been me, I never would have done the same to you. May you be better in death than you were in your life. Valar morghulis.”

Dany took out the flint and steel and lit a bundle of dry brush. She blew it into a flame and then held it to the pyre. The fire began to catch on the leaves and twigs, slowly at first, and then faster, with the flames licking high into the air. Dany backed away to avoid them. The smell was wretched, worse than she had expected, but she couldn’t turn herself away from the sight of it. In retrospect, a burial seemed a much gentler way to put someone to rest than a burning, but a burning was more fitting for Viserys and it was traditional for House Targaryen.

The bright flames danced above the body and the wood popped and snapped underneath. Then Dany saw it in the flames. There was something, a flicker of movement. For one horrifying and irrational moment, Dany wondered if she had burnt her brother alive. But that wasn’t it.

She took a breath and walked onto the pyre.

***

When the fire had burned down to ash and the smoke had mostly been blown away by the wind, they revealed what was left of Viserys’ funeral pyre. His flesh was gone, though a few blackened bones remained. Next to what remained of his skull sat Daenerys, her clothing burnt away and her hair singed, but otherwise unharmed. Unburnt. On her lap was a tiny dragon with emerald green scales and horns over its head and back. In her arms was a pale dragon and on her shoulder was a black one with red membranous wings. The black one raised up, flapping its wings a little and hissed, soon joined by the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The baby dragons arrive!  
> Kind of a short chapter. I'll try to upload the next one soon.


	5. The Forest of Qohor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note about Drogon. Because Dany doesn't really know Khal Drogo in this story, it didn't make sense for her to name a dragon after him. So Drogon has a new name here.

The common people used to call Viserys “the Beggar King”, as he and Daenerys travelled from one of the Free Cities to the next, living off the hospitality of others and selling off what little possessions they still had to survive. Dany wondered what they would call her now if they knew.

The Thieving Queen who stole from the farming villages outside of Braavos, who took the clothes from their drying lines, the food from their markets, and even a rough-gaited mule from their pasture.

The Lost Queen who wandered up into the great Hills of Norvos that stretched across northwestern Essos and then down into the Forest of Qohor.

The Scavenger Queen who ate trash from the villages she passed and leftover carcasses from wild predators, and who was only slowly learning to find wild roots and catch wild rabbits.

The Mother of Monsters, who had three hungry mouths to feed.

The Dragon Queen.

She was all of them really, but she preferred the last one best of all. 

The dragons were growing quickly, though they still depended greatly on her. Young dragons could not fly or breath fire in the first weeks of their lives, and stayed close to their mothers, who fed and protected them. These ones did not have dragon mothers, only Dany, who took on the job with a focused determination. As much as she had loved them as eggs, as true dragons she grew more attached to them than she would have thought possible. They were as unique in their personality as they were in their colors. Each needed a name befitting them.

The pale cream-colored one was the smallest, shiest, and moodiest of the three, prone to sulking and bouts of anger when his siblings took his food or grew too rough in their play fighting. He was frightened of the large hawks and vultures that circled the hills and the forest and perched in nearby trees, though he would grow emboldened when Dany chased them away with rocks. She named him Viserion after her middle brother and told him that he would be what Viserys had never been.

The green one was reckless and Dany suspected he might be the first one to take flight. In the times when she had to venture into a town or a homestead to steal food for them, she would hide the dragons in caves and crevasses out of sight. Sometimes, though, she would return to find that the green had crawled out of the hiding place, where he would greet her, flapping his emerald wings when she returned. She named him Rhaegal after her oldest brother, Rhaegar, whom she had never known, but who had the reputation as a bold and brave warrior.

The black was Dany’s favorite and the largest of the three. She had hard and shiny scales like obsidian, with reddish wings and blood red horns. Her eyes were like burning rubies, fierce but intelligent. She seemed the calmest and the most patient, but she had a secret ferocity boiling below the surface. One day an orange monkey climbed through the trees and over their campsite, chattering at them and baring his sharp teeth. He swung himself down and grabbed Viserion by the foot and started to pull the little dragon away. Before he got two feet, though, the black dragon had bounded on wings and feet before launching herself at the monkey and grabbing it by the throat. Her jaws were too small to crush its throat, but she broke through its skin and gave Dany enough time to grab both dragons and kick the monkey away. Dany named her Sycorax after the dread goddess Syrax of Old Valyria.

They were all growing quickly and growing hungrier as their size increased. Sycorax was beginning to breath out little puffs of smoke, though she had no real flame yet. Rhaegal had managed to kill a mouse on his own, though he had to wait for Dany to cook it before they could eat. They all turned their nose up at any raw meat that was offered.

Dany rode her stolen mule, Jenny, ever southeastward through the Forest of Qohor, moving away from the city it had been named after. She wanted to avoid all great cities and heavily populated areas, for fear of her dragons being stolen or killed. They were too big to hide in the old rucksack and she was more recognizable, as well. Her silver Targaryen hair had grown back down to her shoulders and her body had developed a little more, in a way that would make it harder for her to pass as a boy. The Forest had provided a refuge for them, though a temporary one. Dragons were not creatures of forests. They needed space, open skies with room to fly and hunt. They were moving slowly toward the great plains known as the Dothraki Sea, a place that Dany dreaded to go. But the grasslands were vast, and a person could wander for years and never cross paths with a khalasar. After that, the dragons would be large enough to scare off any enemies. At least, that was what she told herself.

As they rode, Viserion climbed from the mule’s withers and up onto Dany’s shoulder. Even he was starting to get too big to sit there, but she let him for one last time. He stood up tall, gripping her skin with his sharp claws and began to flap his wings. He wanted to fly. Behind her, Rhaegal and Sycorax shrieked at their brother. Then Viserion jumped, opening his wings wide as he glided down and landed heavily on the ground. Dany pulled Jenny to a stop and slid off to see if he was alright. Viserion stood back on his hind legs and shook out his wings, cocking his head at her. 

Not to be outdone, Rhaegal leapt from the mule, flapping his wings hard as he fell down to the ground. It wasn’t flying, but it was closer than Viserion had gotten. Sycorax went last. Her wingspan was the greatest, so she didn’t bother to beat her wings, but instead held them straight and glided gracefully off Jenny’s back and into Dany’s arms. From the ground, Rhaegal and Viserion looked expectantly up at Dany. One at a time, she picked them up and placed them onto the mule. Then they would then jump off, spread their wings, and glide down to the ground, before loping back to her to try again. By the end of the day, all three could glide for several meters before they touched ground, and Rhaegal had even managed to gain a little bit of altitude with his wild flapping.

A week later and they were all flying, swooping from one tree to the next and snapping up squirrels and songbirds, before dropping them down for Dany to cook. They couldn’t fly far in the thick growth of the forest, though, and Dany could tell they wanted to move up above the trees and take to the skies. They were still young enough and small enough, though, that they didn’t want to stray too far from their mother.

Two weeks later, Sycorax breathed out her first ball of flame. It was small and dark red, streaked with black fire. After that, she began to hunt more avidly, catching her own small prey and devouring them instantly. Rhaegal and Viserion were not long after, with dark blueish green and light yellow fire coming respectively from them. It meant that it was time to enter the Dothraki Sea.

Daenerys wasn’t sure which god had saved her from the lagoon in Braavos, but she prayed to them now to keep the khalasars far from her dragons.

***

For the first months in the steppes of the Dothraki Sea, Dany did not see a single other person, though she sometimes saw traces of them. They found areas where the ground was still burnt from the campfires or stomped down from a khalasar’s horses passing over it. There were sometimes thin wisps of smoke in the distance from their encampments. The air was warm enough that she didn’t need a campfire of her own and the dragons only breathed fire to cook their meat, so there was little risk of the Dothraki finding them through the sight of smoke. As for the dragons, they delighted in the space offered by the plains. They would circle high up into the sky only to dive straight down again, or swoop low over the tall grasses, looking for prey. They were good hunters, killing food for themselves first, and then bringing Dany the cooked remains of rabbits and foxes to eat along with the grass seeds and roots she had found. 

Jenny the mule seemed happier in the grasslands, as well, with more to graze on than she had had in the mountains and the forest where they had travelled. She was a big mule, of draft stock, with dark brown fur and a white nose. When Dany had first stolen her, Jenny had been terrified of the baby dragons, rearing and snorting at the sight of them. Over time, though, she had grown used to them and no longer flinched when they hissed or breathed fire. The three dragons could no longer fit together on her back with Dany, but their wings were growing stronger and they preferred to fly above Dany as she rode or walked.

One late afternoon they stopped at a shallow pond to give the mule a drink and refill Dany’s water skin. The dragons were beings of fire and didn’t need to drink, but they enjoyed laying out on rocks in the golden light of the sinking sun. The water was a muddy around the edges, so Dany waded out to get to the clearer water in the center. It felt cool and refreshing on her sweaty skin, so she dipped herself in, scrubbing at her face and arms with her hands. Then she pulled herself out and lay on the rock with the dragons.

Dany began to sing a song that Ser Willem used to sing to her when she was a child. She didn’t remember many of the words, but the tune had stayed with her.

“Hmm, mmm, mmmm, kings, mmm. Jenny would dance hmmm mmmm mmm. The ones and the ones and the ones and the ones hmmm mmm mmm.”

The mule looked up at the sound of her name and then went back to grazing. 

On the other side of the pond, a pack of dogs emerged from the high grasses to drink. They were striped like zebras, though the colors were white on brown rather than black and white, and they had narrow pointed snouts. They were thin and fast, and Dany had seen them running across the plains to catch rabbits. Sycorax raised up as she saw them and hissed. Her body was about the same size as them by now, but with her wings she could make herself appear much larger. She stretched out her wings and blew a blast of black and red fire straight into the air, more impressive than any of her fire breathing before. It rose up like a column of flame ten feet high. The dogs ran back into the grasses, whining and yelping as they fled. Satisfied, Sycorax went back to napping on the rock.

They slept that night by the pond before moving onward. They had no real direction to go, no destination in mind. Dany had seen the Dothraki Sea on maps before, but she had never paid close attention to the details of it. She knew Vaes Dothrak, the capital city of the Dothraki horse lords and crones, lay in the center of the Sea, and that there were other abandoned cities scattered throughout, the remnants of civilizations the Dothraki had conquered.

The next day they found the ruins of such a city.

The broken stone pieces of the old buildings reached up out of the earth like fingers. Grass was growing through what had once been the roads of the city and a few fat, brown and black birds had moved in, which the dragons quickly ate. Jenny didn’t like the place, and tossed her head back before rearing. Dany only kept from falling off by holding tight to her short mane. She slid off the mule and led her on foot into the city. She found a stone of the right shape and tied Jenny to it and then continued along the cracking roads with the dragons.

There didn’t seem to be a single building still intact, just fractured pieces of walls and floors. Sometimes there were bones as well, though never a complete skeleton. There were leg bones and spines that had been dragged apart, rib cages with spears in them, and smashed skulls. Viserion sniffed at some of them and hissed.

Dany turned up a gently sloped mound, atop which sat the foundation of a fallen building. It looked larger than most, so she thought it might be a place of some importance. Bits of broken rock and pottery were scattered around and she caught sight of a small slab that had been painted with red and black. She couldn’t make out what the image was meant to be and she thought it must be just a fraction of a larger piece. She began flipping over the rocks and slabs, until she found a larger piece of the mural.

It showed a small city, glowing with golden light and surrounded by a ring of volcanoes. They were the Fourteen Flames that surrounded Old Valyria before the Doom.

“I think this is Essaria,” said Dany to the dragons. They blinked curiously at her.

Essaria had been one of the Valyrian Freehold’s many colonies on Essos, where they had conquered the local people, enslaved many, and built their towering cities on the backs of those slaves. After the Doom of Valyria, the slaves rose up against their masters or new people came in to conquer and crushed the former colonies to dust. Either way the Freehold had collapsed.

Behind her, she heard Sycorax scream. She whirled and ran toward the sound, finding the three dragons crouched behind a lone wall, hissing and growling at something in the rubble. Dany scrambled over the rocks and saw the item that had upset them.

It was a whip, half buried by stone, but with the black handle sticking up. At first look, Dany thought it was made of ebony wood, but when she grabbed it, she felt that it was bone. Dragon bone. She pulled the rest of the whip out. Braided leather descended from the handle and split into a multiple-tailed scourge with metal hooks at the end. Rhaegal hissed at it and flew away. Dany dropped it and went back to Jenny.

They rode away from the city with the remaining daylight, and slept in a field of red flowers, far out of sight of the place.

***

That night Dany dreamed of three dragons and three beings. A ghost with silver hair stood in front of a massive green dragon with the dragonbone whip. The dragon growled and the figure lashed him across the wings, beating him over and over until steaming black blood oozed out of a thousand small cuts. The dragon bowed.

A woman with fire for hair was singing to a white dragon, who rocked before her like a cobra watching a flute. The dragon’s eyes turned to fire and he bowed.

A shadow came to Dany and held a horn to her lips until she blew into it. The horn glowed red and white and Dany’s lips burned against it. A black dragon turned to face her with angry red eyes and she blew the horn again. The dragon faltered, her eyes turning purple, and she bowed.

Dany snapped awake with her lips still hurting from the dream. She reached up to assure herself that they were not actually blistered and cracked. Rhaegal and Viserion slept curled together on Dany’s side, and Sycorax had her head on Dany’s stomach. She twitched a little, as if she, too, were having dreams. Dany brushed her hand down Sycorax’s neck and scratched her back between her wings. She was growing faster, even faster than her brothers, and each of them more independent by the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes for those who haven't read the books:  
> *The color of a dragon's fire always matches its scales  
> *The Valyrian Freehold was the empire of Old Valyria, which stretched across a large part of Essos. After the Doom of Valyria (big magical volcanic eruption), the Freehold collapsed.  
> *Dragons are all sort of hermaphrodites in the books, or they can change their sex at will (it's a little unclear). Dany's dragons are all referred to as "he" because she names them after men. Here, she names Sycorax/Drogon after a goddess, so the dragon is referred to as "she."  
> *Sycorax is the name of a character from Shakespeare's "The Tempest," but does sound quite similar to the Valyrian goddess Syrax. Maybe GRRM got the name of the goddess from the play.


	6. The Dothraki Sea

Dany saw the smoke on the horizon the following day, several plumes of it and closer than she liked. The dragons were unaware of the danger and so they flew high into the air, swooping and banking as usual. Dany whistled to them and tried to call them down. Sycorax landed, cocking her head as if unsure why Dany was stopping their fun, and Viserion soon followed. Rhaegal, however, continued to fly, and even began to chase a rabbit, sending out a great breath of green fire to kill it.

“Rhaegal, return now,” Dany called in High Valyrian. They seemed to respond better to the old language than the common tongue. 

The dragon lazily snatched the burnt rabbit in his talons and drifted back to Dany. When he landed, Viserion tried to grab it from him, but Rhaegal snarled. Sycorax slapped her tail down onto the earth with a loud clap, startling the other two. She snatched the rabbit from Rhaegal and began to eat it. Neither brother wanted to challenge her for it.

Dany climbed onto the mule, giving herself a better vantage point, and looked toward the smoky sky in the distance. There wasn’t much place to hide. She could only hope they were small enough to go unnoticed by the khalasar.

***

The riders were coming for her. She could see them, still small across the plains. She thought there must be around a hundred of them, not the whole khalasar, but an impressive party nonetheless. The dragons were still the size of dogs and wouldn’t be able to stand against that many warriors.

“Soves,” she told them.  _ Fly _ . They could fly away and she could hope that Jenny the mule would  be able to outrun the Dothraki horses.

Viserion spread his wings as if about to take flight, but Sycorax hissed at him. The three dragons stayed put, crouched in front of Dany. They were standing their ground, then. Dany took out her small knife, her hand shaking a little as she held it. She had only used it to skin rabbits and cut up meat for the dragons before.

The riders reached her in minutes, quickly surrounding her and the dragons. Jenny screamed and reared up, but had nowhere to bolt away. The men didn’t move closer, but stared with wide eyes and open mouths at the dragons. They spoke quickly to each other in the Dothraki tongue. Dany looked from one’s face to the next, seeing shock and a slight tinge of fear in the men. One got off his horse and approached.

Sycorax breathed fire at him, not burning him with it, but blowing it just in front of him as a warning. He stopped moving, looking at Dany. Then he kneeled.

“Khaleesi,” he said.

Dany shook her head, but the other men began dismounting their horses and did the same. Rhaegal snarled at them, but Dany said a few words to calm him as best she could.

“Come,” said the man in the common tongue. His accent was thick and he didn’t seem to know many other words. Still, it was more than Dany knew of the Dothraki language.

Several of the men tried to give her their own horses to ride, but she insisted on riding Jenny. Next to the shiny and spirited mounts of the Dothraki, Jenny seemed a bit ragged and stubborn, but Dany liked the mule well enough. 

“Soves,” she said again, and this time the dragons did fly, though they stayed low in the air to be close to her.

Then she followed the Dothraki back to their encampment, across the flowering plains of the great grass sea.

***

There were more people than she had expected in the khalasar, thousands of them. The site was a flurry of activity as they prepared food, raced horses, argued, and laughed together. They tended to go silent when they saw Dany, though. Well, not Dany, but the dragons above her. Some of the children ran forward in delight, only to be held back by their wide-eyed parents. Some looked frightened of the dragons, others in awe, but all were shocked at the sight. There hadn’t been dragons in Essos for centuries for the Dothraki to have seen. They knew them only from stories, as Dany had before her own had hatched. As the news of the dragons spread through the khalasar, crowds of people began to gather to watch them and follow behind as they approached the largest and finest tent, the tent of the khal.

Dany saw Irri first, standing next to a black horse with her mouth open. Dany wanted to jump off the mule and run over to her, but she feared revealing that Irri had helped her escaped. They kept riding, and she spotted Jhiqui, too, who seemed even taller than when Dany had last seen her. Then they stopped in front of the khal’s tent.

Khal Drogo was standing outside of it with his bloodriders on one side of him and Ser Jorah Mormont on the other. His face was more restrained than the rest of the khalasar, but she could see the surprise in his eyes and also what looked like anticipation. Sycorax swooped down and landed in front of Dany as she pulled the mule to a stop. Dany dismounted and went to stand next to her dragon.

Khal Drogo said something in Dothraki and Jhiqui came over to translate for him.

“Mother of Dragons, we welcome you to our khalasar,” said Jhiqui.

“T-thank you,” said Dany, stumbling over her words a little, but trying to remember her courtesy. She had spent the past months alone in the mountains, the forest, and then the plains, with little sight of other humans. She hadn’t spoken, except to herself and the animals, for some time.

“The khal wonders if you are tired, and gives you use of his tent to rest and bathe.”

Dany looked down at herself. She had worn these clothes for far too long and they smelled like sweat and mule. She must smell the same. Her hair was greasy and her face dirty. 

“The khal says he will let you rest, and then you can speak tonight, and tell us how this has come to be.”

Dany nodded. 

Irri came forward, cautiously moving up to Dany with her eyes on Sycorax. She took Dany by the arm and gently led her into the tent, followed by Jhiqui. They passed by Jorah as they went inside, but he was keeping his face impassive, doing a better job than Dany herself. Sycorax went after them, as did Rhaegal and Viserion, and soon the dragons had all settled themselves on Drogo’s sleeping furs. Irri and Jhiqui still looked at them a little nervously.

“They won’t hurt you,” Dany told them.

“How did this happen?” asked Irri.

Dany told them everything, of her time in Braavos, her brother’s death, and his funeral pyre that gave life to stone dragons.

“Are you a maegi?” asked Jhiqui, narrowing her eyes.

“No, I think not. All I did was lay down some sticks and light them on fire. I don’t know how this came to be, but I’m glad it did.”

“The bleeding star foretold this,” said Irri. She walked over closer to the dragons and Viserion let her touch his wing. She said something in Dothraki to Jhiqui.

Some other members of the khalasar began to bring them buckets of water, which Irri and Jhiqui heated over the fire for the bath. The khal owned a large and heavy bathtub, which must have taken two horses to pull from place to place and sat in the center of the tent. Dany stripped off her dirty clothes and got in when it was half full of steaming water.

“No, it is too hot,” said Irri, running to stop her, but Dany slid comfortably into the water. She had always liked her baths like that, and she had not had a hot bath since she left Pentos. Jhiqui poured more hot water over her, turning her skin pink from the heat.

The grime and sweat was washed from her, leaving her body clean once again. It was not the same body as it had been months ago. She had grown a little in height and shrunk a little in width. Scrounging for food and eating the leftover kills from her dragons, while walking and riding for miles every day, had left her with strong legs, but a slightly starved look. Irri noticed this and went outside to ask someone to bring her food. Dany’s hands felt different, as well. They had been so soft before and her nails always perfect and clean. Now both her hands and feet were rough with callouses and had short, broken nails, not at all like a princess. But she wasn’t a princess, anymore. She was a queen. Or a lost wanderer. Or something.

After her bath, she lay down with the dragons in the furs and blankets of the bed, dressed in new and clean clothing made of leather. She had some horsemeat and cheese to eat, and thought she should feel sleepy and sluggish, but she didn’t. She had people to talk to for the first time in a long time, and she delighted in doing so. Irri sat next to her, growing more comfortable with the sleeping dragons, but Jhiqui stayed a little farther off, perching herself on one of Khal Drogo’s trunks. Jhiqui told Dany the story of the khal’s rage after her disappearance, how he had almost killed Viserys and Illyrio, and how they had paid him in servants and horses, until he relented. Irri and Jhiqui had gone with the Dothraki, joining Drogo’s khalasar and promising to be the new khaleesi’s handmaidens when the khal found another bride. Both were happy to be back on the Dothraki Sea and away from the Free Cities.

“And Doreah?” asked Dany.

“I think she is still in Pentos with the magister,” said Irri.

It was not the greatest fate, but Dany was glad that at least Doreah had not been killed because of her escape.

As they spoke, Khal Drogo entered the tent and inclined his head to them. He was still an intimidating figure, tall and fearsome, but he didn’t strike the same fear in Dany’s heart as he once had. It probably helped that she had three fire breathing dragons next to her and could reduce him to ash with one word if she so pleased.

Sycorax awoke and raised her head, eyeing Drogo with her red eyes.

“I will not marry you,” Dany blurted out. Of the things to say, she wished she had thought of something a bit more courteous.

Khal Drogo laughed, though, and spoke.

“He says his anger at you has been replaced by a wealth of horses and other treasures from Illyrio. He says it is a shame, though. He would like to be the Father of Dragons. He can think of no better children to have,” said Jhiqui.

Rhaegal shifted so his head was in Dany’s lap, also fixing his gaze on the khal.

“He says he has a gift for you.”

“A gift?” asked Dany.

The khal left the tent and slowly Dany rose and followed him. The bloodriders and Ser Jorah were still outside, and three new Dothraki men were standing with them, holding four beautiful horses. Drogo walked over and took one of the horses from them, a young gray mare with a silver mane and tail. She was a beautiful horse, spirited and likely to be a fast runner. She saw Sycorax behind Dany and reared up with a scream, only quieting as Drogo pet her nose.

“She was meant to be your wedding present. Instead, the khal hopes you will accept her as a gift, in the name of friendship and new alliances,” said Jhiqui.

Dany stepped forward and pet the mare along her neck, feeling her tense muscles underneath the fur. She was truly the most magnificent horse Dany had ever seen.

“Give him my greatest thanks for this. The horse is a precious gift.”

Jhiqui did so and Drogo smiled. He walked around to Dany and lifted her up onto the saddle, as if she weighed no more than a doll. She put her feet in the stirrups and took the reins, feeling the pent up power of the mare beneath her. In the Free Cities, she had only ridden docile palfreys before, and after that she had Jenny, who was stubborn and grumpy, but had never bucked her off. With this mare, she wasn’t sure what to expect. Khal Drogo kept hold of the mare’s reins and led her over to the three men.

“These men will serve as your khas and keep you and your dragons safe,” said Jhiqui. She introduced each of them.

There was Rakharo, who rode a tall black stallion with feathered hooves. He looked to be about twenty, with no beard yet and a lean, wiry form. His hair was curlier than most Dothraki and only went down to his shoulders. Next to him was Aggo, a grown man with a full beard and a large goldenheart bow across his back. He rode a brown horse with a white face. The last was a younger man named Jhogo, who rode a pretty bay mare. He had an easy grin and a long curved knife on his belt.

“Thank you,” Dany said again. She looked over at Ser Jorah who gave her a small nod. Drogo handed her the reins. 

Dany nudged the gray mare with her feet and they shot forward. It took very little to get the mare running. Dany managed to keep her seat as they went charging through the camp, scattering people out of the way. They approached a campfire, with people on either side of it, but the mare just leaped over the fire and kept running toward the empty plains. Dany glanced behind her and saw her khas galloping after her, and then up at the three dragons flying overhead. Sycorax flew down and glided next to Dany, causing the horse to run even faster. The dragons were still far too small for Dany to ride, but riding this horse felt close to flying.

The mare’s breathing grew heavy and at last she slowed to a walk, though she still shied nervously away from the dragons. The khas caught up to Dany and they turned their horses to walk back to the camp.

“She is like the wind,” Dany told them, patting the mare on the neck.

“Better than that creature you rode here on,” said Rakharo. He spoke the common tongue the best of the three.

Dany laughed. “Jenny is a good mount. She just wasn’t made for the great plains. You should have seen her in the mountains, though. She could scale rocky slopes and pass through narrow ledges that would send these fine swift horses of yours tumbling down the mountain. Still, I must admit this mare is more fun to ride.”

“Jenny? This is the animal’s name?” He frowned at her.

“Yes, why?”

“Why do you name her? She is not even a horse.”

“I don’t know. What did you name your stallion?”

“I did not. A horse does not need name,” he said.

“Dragon is only animal that needs name,” added Jhogo, looking up at the dragons circling high above them.

***

Dany didn’t get a chance to speak to Jorah for the first few days she travelled with the Dothraki. He was in a precarious position living with them, and Dany didn’t want to make it worse for him. As they rode on across the plains, though, he finally brought his horse up to ride next to her.

“You never made it to Dorne,” he said.

“I’m afraid our disguise idea did not succeed. Captain Lito knew who I was and took me to Braavos. I managed to escape from him and I have been travelling on my own since then.”

“With three young dragons.”

“Yes, hatched from Viserys’ funeral pyre.”

“I’m sorry.” 

Dany looked over at the knight, seeing the regret and sadness on his face.

“I shouldn’t have trusted the captain,” he continued.

“It worked out in the end, I suppose. I’m in the place I never wanted to be, but under changed circumstances. It’s not bad, the Dothraki Sea.”

“You should see it when the rest of the flowers go into bloom. The whole western plains turn scarlet.”

“I would like to.” She paused looking out on the grasses. “The ruins are quite eerie, though.”

“Ruins?”

“We passed through an old city before the Dothraki joined us. I think it was Essaria.”

Jorah raised his eyebrows at that. “The Dothraki call it Vaes Khadokh, the city of corpses.”

“It’s the city of skeletons now. There’s not much left of them. My mule didn’t like the place and it upset the dragons, too.”

“Many of the abandoned cities are said to be haunted.”

“I saw no ghosts, though I dreamed about some.” Dany was quiet for a moment.

Jhiqui and Rakharo were riding a ways in front of Dany and Jorah, but they stopped as Rhaegal dove down and landed on a fox. He blocked their riding path with his wings as he began to burn and eat his prey. Rakharo’s horse reared and kicked at the dragon, and Rhaegal roared back and snapped at the horse’s hooves. Dany nudged her silver mare to run over to them and calm Rhaegal. She jumped to the ground and went to stroke him behind his head. Smoke was still billowing out of his nostrils, but he went back to eating, forgetting about the black horse.

“I’m sorry, Mother of Dragons,” said Rakharo.

“No, it was- I’m the one that’s sorry,” she said.

Rhaegal glanced up at her for a moment and then tore the head off the fox and swallowed it whole. He was growing wilder and more aggressive. He didn’t listen to Dany as he had when he was small. It seemed like Sycorax was the only one who could make him behave, but usually she was uninterested in doing so.

Something would have to be done. A fully grown and out-of-control dragon could set the whole plains on fire, raze cities to the ground, and swallow up people in its great jaws. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jorah, Irri, and Jhiqui return!  
> Rhaegal enters his terrible twos


	7. Vaes Dothrak

The great bronze stallions reared above them, shining in the sunlight. Their hooves met together, forming a massive archway called the Horse Gate. It was no true gate, however, as there were no walls on either side of it.

“Only cowards hide behind walls,” Khal Drogo had told her. “Warriors meet their fate with blades in hand.”

There were no blades allowed beyond the Horse Gate, though. It marked the entrance to Vaes Dothrak, the sprawling capital city of the Dothraki, where lived the Dosh Khaleen, the wise crones who had once been khaleesis on the great grass plains. Vaes Dothrak was a sacred place, and one that forbid violence and bloodshed. There, the khals and their khalasars would set aside their rivalries along with their weapons, and come together as one people. 

Most of Drogo’s khalasar set up camp outside of the gates, and kept guard of the weapons left behind. Dany only had her dagger to hand over, a new one that Jhogo had given her that was far finer than the knife from Tae Pogarto. The khal left his huge curved arahk, his longbow, and his knives, and led the way under the statue of the rearing stallions and down the godsway, the pathway into the city. Dany rode behind him and his bloodriders with Irri and Jhiqui, who told her the history of the place as they went.

“There in the distance is the Mother of Mountains,” said Jhiqui, standing up in her stirrups to point to the great purple peak in the distance, behind the city. “It is very sacred. Only men may climb it.”

“Only men may climb the Mother?” asked Dany, raising her eyebrows.

“I know a woman who climbed it,” said Irri, under her breath.

Dany laughed at that, but Jhiqui looked a bit scandalized.

“Who climbed it?” she asked.

“She was a girl I knew from Khal Moro’s khalasar, the daughter of one of his bloodriders. Laeti. She was a very wild girl. They used to joke that she was a horse that had been born into the wrong body. We came here to the city after Moro got married to his young bride, so the Dosh Khaleen could bless his marriage, and while the bride ate the stallion’s heart, Laeti snuck away and rode her horse to the base of the mountain and then climbed it on foot to the peak. And there she saw visions of the future.”

“What did she see?” asked Jhiqui, her curiosity overcoming her offended feelings.

“She saw a great thunderstorm over the grasslands and two mighty horses fighting below it, one red and one golden. The lightning flashed around them, setting the plains on fire. The red horse bit and kicked the golden until he bled to death and the rains put out the fires. The next month, Khal Drogo killed Khal Moro and the khalasar broke apart.”

“What happened to Laeti?”

“I don’t know. She rode away on Moro’s own stallion after it happened and I never saw her again.”

“Perhaps she became a khaleesi,” said Dany.

The city came into view as they continued down the godsway. It was a massive sprawling metropolis with jumbled architecture from all over Essos. There were step pyramids in the style of the Kingdom of Sarnor, decadent manses like those in Pentos, Valyrian palaces, and many buildings from places Dany had never seen, with winged roofs, glass domes, and spiked towers. The road up to the city proper was lined with statues of bronze, iron, and stone, looking down on all who passed through. On Dany’s right were mostly human figures, old men with long beards, plump smiling women, and children with pointed ears and webbed feet. On the left were more strange and animalistic forms, black iron dragons, winged lions, and stone frogs that looked as if they had been covered in grease. 

“The stolen gods, taken from those we have conquered,” said Irri.

Dany looked into the ruby eyes of one of the dragon statues and then nudged the silver horse to move a little faster into the city.

The Dosh Khaleen lived a palace in the center of the city, next to the sacred pit under the sky where they conducted their rituals and gave advice to the khals. Before them, however, was the great Western Market. Dany couldn’t see exactly how far it stretched, but all around her, as far as she could see, were merchants, their stalls, and their animal pens, all set up around the drinking halls, inns, and brothels. There was so much to look at that Dany hardly knew where to begin. She passed stalls of fine woven rugs, painted pots and vases, mountains of orange and red spices, kegs of sweet wine, and cages of colorful birds. The merchants were mostly from the Free Cities, as the Dothraki preferred to win their wealth rather than trade for it, but there were several Dothraki there to shop and haggle with the sellers. Khal Drogo slowed his horse to ride beside Dany.

“We should have brought that mule of yours. Then you could load her up with the treasures of the market,” he said.

Jhiqui had been diligently teaching Dany the Dothraki language in their weeks of traveling and she could understand most of what he said without help. She still wasn’t very good at speaking it, though, and Jhiqui often laughed at her accent.

“I have what I need for now. As beautiful as these tapestries are, I don’t know what I would do with them on the plains. Although, I wouldn’t mind some wine,” Dany said. Jhiqui helped her remember some of the words as she spoke.

“I must ride on to speak with the crones, but you should explore the market, see the wonders of our great city. Your khas and the Andal can guard you,” he said.

“Alright, I’ll meet you when the sun goes down.”

He rode on with his warriors, and Dany dismounted her silver horse. Irri took the horses and found a place to tie them up, with a young man from the khalasar to watch over them. It was rare to have things stolen in the sacred city, but not unheard of. Rakharo and Jhogo were eager to find food, so they led the way to find a merchant stall of grilled meats and vegetables.

“I see the archery lessons are going well,” said Jorah. He was looking at the large purple bruise on Dany’s left forearm.

“Aggo is a good teacher, but I’m afraid I’m not the best student.”

“Her stance is good, but she moves her elbow wrong,” said Aggo in Dothraki. 

“But I am getting better about that,” said Dany. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Aggo shaking his head at Ser Jorah.

Rakharo brought them all some meat with onions, peppers, and tomatoes to eat, and they walked over to a different area to watch a man juggling flaming clubs. A merchant came over to them with a vibrant scarlet-winged bird on a leash and put it on Irri’s shoulder, trying to get her to buy it. Jhogo shooed the man and his bird away.

“I think there is some wine over here,” said Irri, once the juggler had finished his act. Dany gave the man a few coins and followed Irri.

They turned a corner and came upon a man selling caskets of wine from a caravan. He was small and blond, as Doreah had been. He was handing out small cups of win for the customers to taste before they purchased a whole case. He called out to the market that he had the finest wines in the world, sweet whites from Dorne, rich reds from the Arbor, and fruity wines from the Summer Islands, speaking perfect Dothraki, though he was obviously not. When Dany stepped up, he poured her a cup.

“Try this, a wine so fine you will want to name your first child after me,” he said with a smile.

Dany laughed.

“My children already have their names, I’m afraid. But I will try your wine,” she said in Valyrian.

“Ah, with your hair, I should have known you were not Dothraki. Let me guess. Tyroshi?” he said, also switching to Valyrian.

“I may speak like a Tyrosh, but I am from Westeros.” This she said in the common tongue.

Jhiqui stepped forward. “She is Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen,” she said importantly.

The wine seller smiled even bigger.

“A Targaryen? I am amongst royalty, then.” He looked down at the cup he had offered Dany and thrust it at Jhiqui instead. “That, that is not fit for one of your rank. Dornish swill. Let me get you my finest. A red of the Arbor, absolutely exquisite. A gift for the princess.”

Jhiqui looked insulted for a moment, but she drank the Dornish swill anyway. The wine seller went back into his caravan and pulled out a barrel. Aggo stepped forward and took it from him.

“Thank you most kindly. We will drink it tonight with the khal. For now, may I try one of your whites?” asked Dany.

Before he could pour her one, Jorah interrupted.

“Wait.” He was looking carefully at the casket in Aggo’s arms and then at the wine seller. He took the casket from Aggo and handed it back to the seller. “I have a thirst now. Pour us a glass.”

The wine seller sneered.

“I’m sorry,  _ Ser _ . This wine is meant for kings and queens and great khals. It is not for the likes of you.”

“Pour it,” said Dany. All her previous smiles and laughter were gone.

“It would not do it justice to drink it now. The wine must air.” He was starting to sweat from his forehead.

“Pour it,” Dany repeated.

He did so, and handed it to Ser Jorah, who sniffed it.

“If you would,” Jorah said, handing it back.

The wine seller didn’t take the cup from him, just looked nervous, his eyes shifting between Jorah and Dany.

“Alright.” He raised his hand, but then grabbed the casket instead and hurled it at Dany. Rakharo pulled her back with a jerk that made her lose her balance. Irri manage to catch her and keep her from sprawling on the ground. Meanwhile, the wine seller shoved Jhiqui into Ser Jorah and sprinted away. Aggo reached for his longbow, which wasn’t there. Jhogo ran after the man, pulling out his whip and snapping it down to wrap around the man’s foot. Some other nearby Dothraki ran forward to help Jhogo pull the man up and lead him back to Dany.

Rakharo poured a new cup of the wine and handed it to him.

“Drink,” he said.

The man glared at them all, but took the cup.

“To the Mad King’s daughter,” he said, and he tipped the wine down his throat.

It took a long minute for anything to happen, but then the man began to cough and wheeze. He started clawing at his throat as his breathing grew more and more labored and his face turned purple. He coughed again and a spurt of blood came up. The Dothraki released him and he fell to the ground, wheezing a few more times, before finally ceasing to breathe at all.

“Rakharo, you must not spill blood here,” Jhiqui scolded.

He just shrugged and said, “The man killed himself. He should not have threatened the Mother of Dragons.”

A shadow passed over them and there were some screams from the people in the market. Dany looked up to see the dragon flying over them. Sycorax came down and landed near Dany, sending up a cloud of dust as she did so. She hissed and shrieked at the surrounding merchants and traders, who backed quickly away from her. She was now the size of a donkey and was eating larger and more dangerous prey. Only last week, she had killed a stag. 

Dany went over and ran her hands over Sycorax’s scaly head, calming her and speaking softly to her.

“Come. We should go to the Dosh Khaleen now,” said Dany, hand still held on Sycorax.

***

The pit of the Dosh Khaleen was a great depression in the soil, naturally formed and then lined with stone steps on every side. At one end rose a great step pyramid of dark stone, where the crones lived, attended by eunuchs. Their rituals, though, were performed outside in the pit, under the stars and in the open air, where the Dothraki believed all important events must be held.

There were more of the khaleen there than Dany had expected. It seemed quite common for the khaleesis to outlive their khals. Irri informed her that some khals would take more than one wife, though this was uncommon, usually only done if the first wife was barren. Some of the khaleen were ancient now and had served the majority of their lives in Vaes Dothrak. They had wrinkled brown skin and milky eyes, but still they came out to watch the rituals. One was even younger than Dany, a skinny girl with a timid nature. Irri recognized another one, the former wife of Khal Moro. She was a little older than them, and had a scar on her cheek and a fierce, angry look to her.

The khals from across the Dothraki Sea had come together in the pit with their bloodriders behind them, and all kneeled before the Dosh Khaleen. Dany sat with her khas, Irri, Jhiqui, and the three dragons, who were stretching their wings out behind her. The other khals were looking nervously at the dragons, but Drogo had a proud expression on his face.

“After you ran away, Khal Drogo was very shamed. He would not return to Vaes Dothrak, because of it. But now that you have returned with dragons, he can sit with pride before the Dosh Khaleen,” whispered Jhiqui.

Dany watched Drogo for a moment, frowning a little. Her life with the khalasar was far better than it had been wandering along through the wilderness. She had plenty of food to eat, she was clean, and her dragons were safe, which was more than she had expected. But the dragons were hers, and not Khal Drogo’s. She would repay his hospitality if she could, but she wouldn’t burn cities or help enslave people for him.

The first ritual of the Dosh Khaleen was for Khal Jommo, whose wife was vastly pregnant. One of Jommo’s bloodriders brought forth a hot-spirited stallion, who stomped and reared as they led him into the pit. Jommo stepped forward with a stone knife, all that was allowed in the city, and struck the animal in the throat. It was a good blow, but not quite enough to kill the stallion. He screamed and staggered, and Jommo struck him again, this time bringing him down. The bloodriders helped Jommo to cut through the stallion’s chest and pulled out his steaming heart. The dragons crept forward, roused by the smell of horse blood and Dany went to sit next to them and keep them calm.

Jommo’s wife stepped forward and accepted the heart from him. She tore into it with her teeth, grimacing a little, but then she continued. She had to eat the whole heart without throwing it back up if she wanted a strong son, Jhiqui had told Dany. 

The heart looked tough and the woman had to rip at it hard with her teeth. She gagged once, but at the end she kept it down.

“A son! A new heir!” proclaimed a khaleen.

A cheer went up from the other khals and Jommo lifted his wife into the air and carried her back to where they had been sitting.

One of the oldest khaleen stepped forward then, a small, hunched woman. She said something in Dothraki that Dany didn’t quite understand, but it made all the khals turn to look at her.

“She wants you to stand and come to them,” said Jhiqui. “I’ll go with you to help you understand.”

They stood and Dany had to resist holding onto Jhiqui’s arm. They were just a group of women, most of them old and frail. She didn’t know why they made her so nervous, but she was beginning to understand why even the mightiest of khals was afraid to disobey the warnings and advice of the Dosh Khaleen. Viserion cried out behind her.

“Mother of Dragons,” said the old woman. “We welcome you to our holy city. Will you give me your hands?” Jhiqui repeated what she had said in the common tongue.

Dany held out her hands, and the old woman took them in her own, closing her eyes.

“A dragon is fire made flesh, and so, too, must be their rider. A wild horse needs a strong hand, a dragon needs a strong mind. You have either brought great prosperity to our people or great destruction. I see a mighty horde of our warriors, riding across foreign lands with a dragon flying over them. I see burnt bodies, melted chains, and a silver queen atop an iron gray horse.”

“I don’t mean to bring you destruction, Khaleen,” said Dany, bowing her head a little.

The crone leaned in and this time spoke so only Dany and Jhiqui could hear.

“With a mount like that, you could be the one who takes the world, by fire and blood.”

Dany shivered a little as she heard the words of her house. The crone was looking behind Dany and she turned to see that Sycorax, had quietly moved up behind her. Sycorax tilted her head back and blew a plume of flame up toward the stars. The Dothraki stood up. The crone spoke louder now, shouting to the people.

“Three dragons, one black, one green, one pale. Three riders, one west, one south, one east. Three flames, one alive, one dead, one endless. The dragons will rise with the Great Khalasar and their enemies will fall to ash beneath them!”

One of the Dothraki began to ululate, and the others joined him, screaming and cheering. In the fervor of emotion that filled the pit, Rhaegal and Viserion leapt over to the carcass of the stallion and set it alight. Sycorax looked once to Dany, and then flew to join them, tearing into the beast, as the deafening sound of cheers erupted around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The scene where the wine seller tries to poison Dany is very similar to the scene in the book (and the show)  
> *Vaes Dothrak is quite different in the show vs the books. In the show, it's quite simple, with just one main hut. In the books, it's this huge city and trade center.


	8. The Khalasar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warning: there is a sexual assault that occurs in this chapter. It isn't depicted or at all explicitly described, but the characters talk about it and there are some emotional moments.
> 
> *The conversation with Quaithe has some lines quoted directly from the books, so credit for those goes to GRRM

The next morning Dany went to the Eastern Market, said to be a place of mystery, very different from the familiar Western Market, where the Free Cities came to trade. The Eastern Market hosted the people from the far east, from the other side of the Bone Mountains, and was far more interesting in Dany’s opinion. Khal Drogo accompanied her this time, in good spirits after the meeting with the Dosh Khaleen, but Dany felt a little glum and in need of a distraction. She didn’t lie to herself about what her dragons were. They were power, beyond anything else in the known world, but power was often unjust and cruel, as were those who sought it. Dany wondered what Viserys would have done with three dragons. Probably set the whole of Essos and the Seven Kingdoms on fire.

Luckily, the Eastern Market was a good place for distraction.

The first stall they came to was also one of the most delightful, as it had an elephant tied up next to it. Dany had seen an elephant only once before in a circus in Tyrosh. That one had been a drab, sad creature, who bobbed its head incessantly from boredom. This one looked far healthier, with bright eyes and flapping ears. The seller gave Dany a branch of plantains to feed the elephant, who accepted each with her flexible trunk and popped them into her mouth. Dany reached out and touched her shoulder, feeling the leathery skin and coarse hair.

“You ride?” the seller asked her. 

“I think I shall stay with horses for now, but thank you. She is a wonderful creature.”

Drogo eyed the elephant. “The elephants are large, so some of the sellswords ride them into battle. My father fought against one company that did this, hired by Qohor. But elephants scare easily. So when his khalasar charged them on horses, the elephants threw off their riders and ran. Horses are better.”

“They just aren’t meant for war. What happened after the sellswords were defeated?”

“Qohor surrendered and gave my father five hundred horses and as many pounds of gold and silver. One of those horses was the broodmare of my own stallion.”

“Where did my silver come from?” Dany asked as they moved on through the market.

“Her sire was one of Khal Moro’s, and her broodmare was caught from the wild. She was a mean horse. She gave me this.” He held out his arm to show a thin scar on his wrist.

“She…” Dany couldn’t remember the word for “bite” in Dothraki, so she snapped her teeth together.

“She may as well have had fangs. But she birthed good fast foals.”

Drogo led Dany over to a round pen of strange horses, with black and white stripes and tails like lions, called zorses. Around the pen stood a group of people with coppery brown skin like the Dothraki, but shorter heights. Their heads were long and slightly pointed at the top, and Drogo told her they got that way by wrapping the heads of their babies. They were called the Jogos Nhai, a people of nomadic riders and warriors like the Dothraki, though the Bone Mountains between the two kept them from serious competition.

Dany was distracted from the zorses when a woman even taller than Drogo walked past them. She was remarkably beautiful, with golden eyes and curved eyelids. She moved gracefully and wore a fine silk dress that had strange creatures stitched all over it.

“From Leng,” Drogo said.

They passed a group of warrior women from Kayakayanaya, who pierced their cheeks like Westerosi women pierced their ears, and then stretched the skin to fit jewels into the holes. Beyond them was an elegant party from Yi Ti, and then a menagerie of glistening manticores, basilisks, and even a unicorn. Dany had seen paintings of unicorns before, which always depicted them as graceful and slender white horses. This creature, however, looked more like a mountain goat - short, stout, and shaggy, with a curved brown horn coming out of its forehead.

As they walked farther from the central city, the items being sold in the stalls became stranger and more sinister, as metalwork and pottery were replaced by bone carvings, statues of oily black stone, dragon scales, and vials of bloods. There were more shadowbinders and blood mages from Asshai in this part of the market, strange people who covered their bodies in tattoos and their faces in red masks. One of them came up to Dany, wearing a thick black cloak with only her tattooed hands showing.

“Mother of Dragons,” she said, speaking perfect High Valyrian.

Dany wasn’t particularly surprised the woman knew who she was. News of the dragons had spread rapidly through the great city, and many had seen Sycorax flying above them. 

“I have a warning for you and some advice.”

“Who are you to give me advice?” asked Dany.

“I am Quaithe of the Shadows. You should beware such places as this. Your dragons are fire made flesh. They are power. And many who come to Vaes Dothrak yearn for such power.”

Her words reflected those of the crone the night before. Fire made flesh. She continued, “ To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward, you must go back, and to touch the light, you must pass beneath the shadow.”

“Asshai?” asked Dany. It was the most south and east place she knew of and it sat in the Shadow Lands. “What will I find in Asshai?”

“Truth,” said Quaithe. “Your ancestors tamed their dragons with whips and horns and blood magic. Will you not do the same?”

Dany frowned, not knowing how to answer. Quaithe backed away and melded in with the crowds of the market. Drogo watched her go, looking confused, having not understood a word of their conversation.

“What did she say?” he asked Dany.

“Nothing important,” she said.

***

They stayed in Vaes Dothrak for two more days, visiting the markets, swimming in the Womb of the World, a large lake that sat just to the north of the city, and watching the horse races and wrestling matches. On the last day, Irri took Dany to a marvelous palace that contained art taken from all over the world, either through trade or through force. All were fascinating, but Dany was most drawn to the works from Old Valyria or depicting the Doom. She and Irri stopped in front of one such mural, which showed fire streaming through the sky over Valyria, as dragons fell and their riders burned to ash.

“How did it happen?” asked Irri.

Dany told her the tale. “Some of the details are unclear, but there are rumors. Old Valyria sat in the middle of a ring of volcanoes known as the Fourteen Flames. Underneath the mountains were precious metals, and the Valyrians sent their slaves to mine deeper and deeper into the earth.”

“It is sinful to cut into the earth, this is known.” Irri reached up a touched one of the dying dragons in the mural.

“And they paid the price. From what my brother told me, there were dangerous magics, or creatures, or something, lying dormant beneath the volcanoes. But the more the slaves tunneled, the more the magic awoke. The noble families used their own magic to hold back what lay in the tunnels, to keep it dormant. But then many of the nobility died - I’m not sure why - and what was inside the Fourteen Flames came bursting out of the volcanoes. Old Valyria was destroyed, as were the Valyrians and their dragons.”

“Not all of them.”

“No, my family escaped with five dragons. Over time, their dragon population grew and they had dozens of them in Westeros, but they all killed each other in a civil war. Now mine are the only dragons in the world.”

Irri reached out and took her hand. Dany was quiet for awhile, looking over the grim mural.

“Come on. Can you show me some Dothraki art?” she asked.

Irri smiled and pulled her into another room.

***

The first days after leaving Vaes Dothrak were peaceful and routine. The dragons would soar lazily above the khalasar. Dany would gallop with her khas across the fields and talk with Irri and Jhiqui late into the nights. Khal Drogo would hunt with his bloodriders and friends for deer and antelope. One day, Drogo brought back a magnificent white lion he had killed, and skinned it. The pelt would be turned into a blanket and the meat eaten. Viserion snuck forward and tried to steal the skinned carcass, but Irri bravely shooed him away. He was still a shy and nervous dragon, even though he was nearly bigger than she was, so he slinked off. Irri went to him later and gave him some deer meat, and he seemed to forgive her. 

Unfortunately, things did not stay so peaceful for long.

Khal Drogo had three bloodriders, each who had pledged themselves to him when he had first become the khal, after the death of his father, Bharbo. Cohollo was Dany’s favorite, the oldest of them, said to be fearsome in battle, but kind to Dany. He looked like he had survived many fights, with his crooked nose, scars, and many cracked teeth. The second, Haggo, was a large man and a champion wrestler. But the third, Qotho, made Dany nervous. He seemed quiet and calm, but Dany soon noticed how the women of the khalasar flinched away from him, and how his own horses grew nervous when he approached. Whenever Drogo was around, he was polite to Dany, but as soon as the khal left, he would rake his eyes over her in a way that made her shiver.

Then one night, Irri came back late to the tent she shared with Jhiqui and Dany. Jhiqui was fast asleep at the time, but Dany heard Irri come in. At first, Dany said nothing, until she heard that Irri was crying, though she was trying to be as quiet about it as she could. Dany got up from her blankets and wrapped her arms around Irri, who broke down in tears. Jhiqui woke up then, and after a moment’s confusion, she rose and hugged Irri, as well. Irri sobbed late into the night, while Dany and Jhiqui rubbed her back and said what words of comfort they could. Finally, when her tears had run out and she had calmed, she said one word.

“Qotho.”

At first, Dany had been only sad and worried for her friend, but now she burned with rage. White hot anger was pumping out of her heart and through her veins at the thought of someone hurting her friend. She stood and began to pace in the tent.

“He won’t get away with this,” she said through gritted teeth.

“He is the khal’s bloodrider. He can do...he can do what he likes,” said Irri. Jhiqui held her tight.

“No. No more.” Dany left the tent. It was dark still, and the stars shown above them in the cloudless sky. Next to the tent she saw the glowing eyes of Sycorax, who had been sleeping beside the tent. Sycorax rose to her full height and bellowed a roar, sure to wake every sleeping person within earshot. Several horses whinnied nervously in response. Dany went over and stroked her face.

“Tomorrow,” she said.

Dany went back into the tent and held Irri until she finally fell asleep. Irri’s dreams were troubled, though, causing her to toss and whimper. Dany didn’t sleep at all, but ground her teeth with anger. She knew such things happened. They had almost happened to her, but she would never stand for them. Not when she had the power to do otherwise.

The next morning, Rhaegal was out hunting, and Dany wasn’t able to find him, but Sycorax and Viserion were waiting by the entrance of the tent, almost as if they were expecting something to happen. They took to the air above Dany, as she walked to find the khal. It was early still, but Drogo and his bloodriders were awake, sitting around a burned out fire pit, while servants brought them breakfast. Drogo smiled at Dany when she walked up to them, but the smile faded when he saw her expression. Sycorax landed first on the ground in front of Qotho and screamed at him with her raspy, shrieking cry. The other men leapt to their feet and Qotho flinched away from the dragon, but Viserion came down behind him and snapped at his back. Trapped between them, he drew his arakh, ready to fight. Sycorax surged forward and bit down on his forearm, making him scream and drop his weapon. She released him, revealing a mangled wound on his arm.

“What is this?” yelled Drogo.

Dany whirled on Drogo, facing him down despite him being over a foot taller than she was.

“While I am here, no man may take a woman who refuses him. If they want a women, they shall find a willing one, or my dragons will grow fat from feasting on their bodies. If that one lays one more hand on Irri, they will bite of his manhood,” she said, pointing at Qotho.

Drogo’s jaw clenched for a moment as he looked from Dany to Qotho to the hissing dragons. He gave a short nod and said, “It is understood.”

“That’s good,” said Dany, though she was still fuming. She turned and walked away, and the two dragons flew up and over her as she went. The arm wound hadn’t quite satisfied all of her anger, but it would do for now.

She returned to her tent and crawled back into bed with Irri, trying to calm herself.

Once the sun was higher in the sky, Irri arose at last and began to go about her usual tasks, gathering water for the horses and helping Dany and Jhiqui to pack up their tent. When she saw Qotho with a bloody bandage on his arm, she looked at Dany, who said nothing, but smiled. Irri smiled, too.

***

The second thing to break the peace was Rhaegal. His hunting trips were growing longer as he flew out farther distances across the plains, finding young deer and wild dogs to burn and eat. He still came back each night and let Dany scratch him between his shoulders or run her fingers over his wings, but more often than not, he was gone the next morning.

“All children must learn to live without their mothers,” said Irri, as they watched him fly off one morning. Dany knew she was right. She was happy the dragons could better fend for themselves now, but still, the thought of them not needing her anymore made her heart ache.

Rhaegal returned that day with a burnt carcass of a baby deer in his talons. He had already eaten half of it, and had carried back the rest. He settled on the ground and crouched above it, hissing at Viserion when the other dragon got close. Viserion backed away, so Rhaegal curled around his kill and went to sleep.

Later in the day, a group of children were playing a game with a leather ball, tossing it to each other and trying to hit a target. Dany sat on the grass watching them, with Sycorax’s head in her lap. One older boy tossed the ball too high, so that it flew over the other children’s heads and bounced near Rhaegal. A smaller boy ran for the ball.

“Wait!” called Dany, pushing Sycorax’s head away so she could stand.

Rhaegal lifted his head at the approaching child and roared. The boy froze and the dragon raised up onto his wings and feet, snapping his jaws. Dany began to run toward them. The boy seemed paralyzed by fear and didn’t move as the dragon bore down on him. 

Sycorax flew over Dany and tackled Rhaegal to the ground. She clamped her jaws on his back and tossed him away, lashing her tail like an angry cat. Dany reached the boy and pulled him away from the dragons, who faced each other, snarling and hissing. Rhaegal rose up on his legs, beating his wings and then dropped down and screamed in a threat display. Sycorax didn’t back down. They both jumped into the air, kicking and clawing at each other with a fury until Rhaegal shrieked and pulled away. He had a few scratches on his belly and a small tear in his left wing. He eyed Sycorax and then leapt up again, this time flying away over the encampment, high up into the air until he disappeared into the clouds.

Sycorax turned to Dany, and roared at her.

Rhaegal didn’t return the next day.

***

“I have to leave,” said Dany, alone in the tent with Irri.

“Why?” asked Irri. She had been busy unpacking the blankets, but she stopped and came to sit next to Dany.

“Because Rhaegal is gone, and I don’t think I can control the other two much longer. Even Sycorax, who has always been the steadiest of the three, grows wilder and more violent. A dragon is not a horse. They can’t be broken like a horse.”

_ Your ancestors tamed their dragons with whips and horns and blood magic _ , Quaithe had said.

“I will go with you,” said Irri.

Dany shook her head. “It’s too dangerous where I’m going, but I think it’s the only place I’ll find the truth. You will be safer here with the khalasar.”

“Will I?” asked Irri, glaring at the floor.

Dany put a hand on Irri’s shoulder.

“I shall talk to Drogo tomorrow. I will tell him that I will return soon enough, and if anything has happened to you in that time, I will burn him and his bloodriders alike. And I’ll ask my khas to protect you. Rakharo, Aggo, and Jhogo won’t let anything harm you.”

Irri nodded, but she started to cry. Dany hugged her and soon realized that she, too, was crying. She would miss her friend so much as she travelled to the far east. Dany wished she could take them all with her, but she thought it would be better if she went alone. She couldn’t bear the guilt if anything happened to them.

Irri sniffed and pulled back.

“You will be safe. And you will come back. Promise me this.”

“I promise,” said Dany, though she wasn’t sure. She was going to a dangerous place.

Irri got up and went to her trunk. She rummaged through it until she pulled out a horse made of iron, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand.

“Will you take this? The Great Stallion will keep you safe and help you find your way back.”

Dany accepted the horse. She went to get some cord, which she wrapped around the little idol and then tied it around her neck.

“Thank you, my friend.”

***

The next day, Dany told the khal of her plan to leave the khalasar.

“I must thank you for your incredible kindness in taking me in, feeding me and my dragons, sharing so much with me. I will find a way to repay you someday, but first I must find the secrets of taming my dragons. I think they are too dangerous to be around so many people. So many children.”

Drogo watched her carefully as she spoke.

“It was an honor to host the Mother of Dragons and to see your children. I will give you whatever you need for your journey.” He inclined his head and she did the same.

She brought her silver horse over then and gave the reins to him.

“This is the finest horse I’ve ever seen, but I cannot take her where I’m going. She needs to stay in the great grass sea.”

Drogo took the mare and stroked her neck.

“You should give her to your wife, when you marry. You will be a good enough husband, I think, but you should find someone older than me.”

He chuckled a little at that.

Dany then nodded goodbye to Cohollo and Haggo, but noticed Qotho wasn’t with them.

“Irri-” she started to say.

“I gave you my word, not thing will happen to Irri or Jhiqui,” said Drogo

“Thank you.”

She turned and went to find Ser Jorah to say goodbye. She walked around the camp, but couldn’t find him or any Dothraki who had seen him. It took the better part of an hour to locate the man. She found him on the edge of the khalasar, sitting on his horse, holding another horse, which had been saddled and tacked, and Jenny the mule, who had several sacks strapped to her back.

“Ready to leave, my queen?” he asked.

Dany frowned at him.

“Ser Jorah, it is too-”

“Too difficult to talk me out of it. I am going with you. Irri and Jhiqui have packed up your belongings. The khal has given you a new horse, not as fine as your mare, but he is sufficient. And this is from Aggo.” He handed her a bow and quiver, much smaller than Aggo’s tremendous longbow, but better suited for her size. She ran her hand over the smooth wood and placed it across her back.

Dany thought about arguing, but instead she went and mounted the little gelding. Several of the children of the khalasar ran out to wave to them as they rode away, and Dany saw her khas, standing with Irri and Jhiqui to see them off. She waved for as long as she could, but then turned away from the khalasar.

“So where are we going?” asked Ser Jorah.

“Asshai,” said Dany.

Above them, Sycorax and Viserion flew together, but the sky looked empty without their brother there with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sorry, this is the chapter where everything falls apart. But I promise this is not the last we've seen of Rhaegal, Irri, and the khalasar.


	9. By the Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I made some changes to Jorah and Dany's relationship for this fanfic. In the books and the show, Jorah is in love with Dany, though she doesn't feel the same way. However, she's like fourteen at this point in the fic, and I don't really want to write their relationship like that. So I made them have more of a familial relationship, where Jorah sees her more as a daughter figure.  
> *Also, Dany has some dreams in this chapter, which allude to some of the history, mythology, and some fan theories from the books. I'll put a little guide explaining the dreams in the endnotes.  
> *Thanks for all the lovely comments! I really appreciate them!

They rode south until they reached the River Skahazadhan, a brown lazy thing that snaked from the Dothraki Sea to the city of Meereen on the coast. The whole area around the river used to belong to the Empire of Ghis, until the Valyrians conquered them. Now the only Ghiscari who remained were in the three cities of Slaver’s Bay: Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen. There were a few scattered villages along the river, of mixed Ghiscari, Dothraki, and Lhazareen heritage and mixed culture. Jorah and Dany stopped in one such village and sold their horses and Jenny the mule to buy passage on a boat down the river to Meereen.

The city of Meereen sat behind a high wall of colorful bricks, each a swirl of red, yellow, and black. The top of the wall was armed with archers, Unsullied infantry, catapults, and ballistas. The dragons flew peacefully above the city, and Dany could see the guards pointing and running in a panic. But the dragons didn’t attack.

Dany and Jorah never entered the city proper, but only the harbor outside of the walls. Using some of Khal Drogo’s gold they bought passage on a ship called the Cinnamon Wind, captained by a Summer Islander named Quhuru Mo and his daughter, Koja. Quhuru was a little nervous to have fire-breathing dragons on his wooden ship with cloth sails, but Dany paid him extra for it and assured him the dragons would not harm the ship. She hoped it was true.

Sycorax and Viserion came down and settled themselves on the ship’s deck, tired after the day’s long flight. Viserion was in foul mood and curled himself in a corner, hissing at any of the poor crew who came near him. Even Dany’s offers of fish could not cheer the dragon.

“I never thought I would see the day,” said Quhuru, who after his initial hesitance had become fascinated by the dragons. “I have seen statues of them across Westeros, but statues capture nothing of their grace and power.”

“Do you sail often to Westeros?” asked Jorah.

“We sail everywhere. From Asshai to Naath to White Harbor, carrying goods and gossip across the world.”

“And what is the news in Westeros?” asked Dany.

“Great unrest. King Robert’s reign has been swiftly ended upon the tusks of a boar.”

“The usurper is dead?” Dany was stunned. King Robert had loomed over her entire childhood, like some unstoppable and malevolent force. Now he was simply gone from the world. 

“His son, Prince Joffrey assumed the throne, but there are rumors that dispute his parentage and his right to it. So Westeros is currently in the midst of a violent conflict, as brother turns on brother, father on son, and all fight and die for the throne. And the while the true queen sails in the opposite direction.” Quhuru smiled as he said it. He was teasing her.

“Would my going to Westeros stop the conflict?”

Quhuru tapped his chin. “On the contrary, I think it would heighten it.”

“Then we shall continue to Asshai.”

Dany turned to Ser Jorah, then.

“Did you know King Robert?” she asked.

“Not well. He was a fearsome fighter in his youth. Then as a king, he set aside his warhammer, and picked up a mug of ale. He liked drinking, hunting, and women, but had little interest in the duties of a king.”

Dany leaned over and rested her chin on the rail, looking out at the water. She thought she would feel happy when Robert finally died, but she didn’t really feel much of anything for the man. Maybe there was a slight disappointment that she had not been the one to kill him.

They sailed out of the Gulf of Grief, which marked the entrance to Slaver’s Bay. The gulf was so named because of the many slaves who chose to die by jumping into the sea, rather than face a life in chains. Dany was happy to leave it all behind for more pleasant waters. They passed through the warm Summer Seas, and saw the edge of the mysterious land of Sothoryos, the southern continent. Koja told Dany tales of the land, of lizard men, giant insect, and diseases that would boil your blood in your veins. Dany wasn’t sure how much of it was true, but it did not make her want to set foot on Sothoryos any time soon.

They travelled around the island of Great Moraq and into the Jade Sea. Dany was grateful to have Koja along, as she was a fine archer with a beautiful bow made of goldenheart wood. Together they were able to pass the days shooting a target that they’d hung on the back rail of the ship. Koja hit the center of the target easily, every time. Dany was improving, though, so that now she at least hit the target most of the time, though she had lost several arrows to the sea. She still struggled with keeping her elbow from tilting to the left as she aimed.

The dragons grew restless on the voyage. They would spend the days gliding over the waters, catching fish, and sleeping on the sunny deck, but they snapped at each other often and snarled at the crew. Dany thought they must miss the great grass sea.

They moved farther east, and Dany got her first view of Asshai. It was late in the afternoon when one of the crew called out from the crow’s nest and pointed. Dany ran to the front of the ship and squinted, trying to make out the land mass in front of them. It was hazy and dark, surrounded by a thick fog, and she could discern little of its details. As they sailed closer, the fog descended over them, blotting out what remained of the sun. Slowly, Dany began to see lights in the distance, though they were a strange, muted yellow, sort of sickly looking.

The Cinnamon Wind pulled into the harbor, empty of both people and other ships, and docked.

“Not the most welcoming of places, but they are rich in amber and precious metals,” said Quhuru. The bright feathered cloak he wore looked so out of place in the gloom of the Asshai Harbor.

“What do you trade them in return?” Dany asked.

“Food and clean water. The whole land here is poisoned. The River Ash will kill you in minutes if you drink the water. Nothing grows except ghost grass. No animals live here. So they must import everything.”

They all disembarked the ship onto the quiet dock, and Dany stayed close to Ser Jorah, feeling her nervousness grow with every step.

_ You are the blood of the dragon _ , she reminded herself. She felt a warmth beneath her hand and looked down to see Sycorax pressing her nose against it, breathing puffs of warm air onto her skin. Dany scratched the dragon behind her head. She could feel the comforting weight of the little metal horse Irri had given her, as well, hanging around her neck and tucked under her cloak.

People began to emerge from the city, coming out to the harbor. All were covered with robes and cloaks, and had concealed their faces with masks and veils. 

“Here come the traders. It has been an honor to meet you and to see your dragons,” said Quhuru. He offered his hand for Dany to clasp and did the same to Jorah. Dany and Koja hugged. Then, Dany, Jorah, and the dragons left the ship and crew behind to enter the city.

Dany couldn’t see the eyes of the Asshai’i behind their masks, but she could see their heads turn as she and the dragon passed by them. Some of them spoke in the strange, harsh tongue of the Shadow Lands, whispering to each other with their masks trained on the dragons. Jorah quickened their pace away from the harbor.

From a distance, the city had looked vast, rivaling even Vaes Dothrak, but as they walked through the murky streets, they hardly encountered a soul. The city felt empty, almost dead. The few people they did see were all cloaked and covered, and did not stop to speak. 

The buildings of Asshai were as strange as the people, built of an oily black stone that seemed to suck the light from the torches, leaving the city with only a dim yellow glow. The streets were damp from the fog and the whole city gave off an odd smell, not bad exactly, but sort of burnt and briny. The dragons sniffed at the air, curious about the place.

They turned a corner and ran into a shadowbinder.

“Mother of Dragons,” said the figure.

For a moment, Dany thought it was Quaithe of the Shadow, but she realized the voice was slightly deeper. They were dressed the same, though, with black cloaks and red lacquer masks.

“I am Nhehrai of the Shadow. Welcome to Asshai.”

Dany had never been to a place that was less welcoming, but she thanked the woman anyway.

“Are you a friend of Quaithe?” Dany asked.

“You could say that. Come inside with me. It is unwise to be out on the streets so uncovered.”

Jorah looked suspicious and doubtful of the woman, but he followed Dany as Nhehrai led them into a large building with a spiked dome on its roof. Inside was a long hall, with black columns lining either side and a pool of water on the far end. There were torches of the same dull yellow flames between each of the columns. They threw shadows onto the floor, which seemed dance in the flickering firelight. The rest of the room was empty and echoing, only black tile floors and black stone walls. Once the dragons had entered, Nhehrai closed the door behind them and removed her cloak, but kept her mask in place. Her skin was pale, almost deathly so, and covered in black tattoos. Her fingertips were painted crimson and the nails were long and sharp.

“The Library of the Ancients,” she said, holding her arm out to show off the room.

Dany looked around again.

“A library with no books?” she asked.

“But one of great knowledge. Here, you may find that which you seek. But first, you shall rest. I will come again in the morning. I do not recommend leaving the library, but if you must, I give these to you.” Nhehrai pulled out two red masks, as if from nowhere, from the shadows, and gave them to Dany and Jorah. She put on her cloak again and slipped out the door, leaving them alone in the hall.

After a pause, Jorah said, “Are you sure about this, Daenerys? Captain Quhuru is likely still at the dock. We could still catch him.” He spoke softly, as if he sensed her fear.

“No,” said Dany firmly, steeling herself. “There will be answers here. I know there will.”

He watched her for a moment and then nodded. 

Jorah removed his pack and walked around the room. There were doors behind the columns and the torches, but all were locked except on that led to a small privy, lined with the same black tile. Dany set up her bedroll on the far side of the hall, beside the pool of water, and set her bow and her dagger beside her. She dipped her hand into the pool, finding that the water itself was clear and cold. Jorah came over and scooped up a handful of it to examine.

“Is this the water that is safe to drink? That the Asshai’i import here?” asked Dany.

“I think it must be,” said Jorah.

Dany cupped the water and brought it up to her face, but Jorah stopped her.

“Let me be the first,” he said. He took a sip. “Well, it tastes like water.”

Dany drank, too. It was clear and cold and fresh, unlike most else in the city.

“Not the nicest place I’ve ever slept, but I suppose not the worst,” said Jorah, unrolling his own blankets to sleep on.

“What was the worst?”

Dany lay back in her bedroll and listened as Jorah described a night in Tyrosh, when he had had to sleep in a barn with some pigs and had woken up cuddled up to the sow. Dany laughed, but she doubted that was truly his worst night. He had fought in two wars, after all - in Robert’s Rebellion against her own family, and then against the Greyjoys in their rebellion, which had won him his knighthood. She imagined that soldiers had many dark nights, though Jorah probably faired better as a lord than the common men.

Sycorax and Viserion curled themselves next to Dany and fell into an easy sleep. It took Dany a little longer, listening to Ser Jorah’s snores and the dragons’ soft breathing. Eventually though, she, too, drifted off.

***

Dany found herself back in Braavos, standing outside the House of Black and White. The city around it looked different, with only wooden huts on the islands instead of the mass of stone buildings, but the temple was exactly the same. A man and a woman approached, both with silver hair and violet eyes. As they walked up the steps, they disappeared in smoke and the dream changed.

A boy with mousy brown hair approached a large yellow dragon who had been chained by her legs. She let him approach easily and the boy unlocked her chains. He climbed onto her back and she began to growl, a rumbling sound from deep in her chest. The boy held on tight as she leapt into the air, but then the dragon spun, tossing him from her back, and he plummeted downward to the ground far below.

A young man, about Dany’s age, with black hair and gray eyes was fighting a corpse alongside a white wolf. The corpse clasped its necrotic black hands around the wolf’s throat and the man cut off its arm. The corpse paused for a moment, but then lunged at the man again. The severed arm continued to move, as well, crawling across the floor as wolf snapped at it. The man lost his sword to the corpse, so he broke an oil lamp over some curtains and threw the burning cloth over the corpse, who collapsed in flames.

An old woman told a terrifying tale of spiders and the dead to a broken little boy.

A woman in a red dress watched as seven wooden statues burned and a glowing sword was pulled from the heart of one.

A man stabbed his wife through the heart. A man ran through the snow with a broken blade.

An enormous black dragon burned down a city of screaming people.

Then Dany awoke, breathing hard and covered in sweat. She crawled over to the pool of water and splashed some on her face. She felt a little better.

She stood and picked up the mask that Nhehrai had given her, putting it on. She didn’t go outside, following the shadowbinder’s advice, but she opened the door and looked out.

In front of the library, stood about twenty people, spaced apart from each other, but all turned toward the building. She could make out tattooed arms of the shadowbinders, the elongated heads of the moonsingers of the Jogos Nhai, pyromancers who held dull red fires in their palms, red priests of R’hllor, and worshipers of the Black Goat, who wore horned masks. She saw no faces and they did not see hers. She closed the door and went back to her bedroll.

***

The next morning, Nhehrai returned, bringing them food to eat, carried in by veiled, silent servants. There was bread for Dany and Jorah, and a strange roasted meat for the dragons. It was plain and bland, but it sated their hunger just the same. Dany asked Nhehrai about the people outside the library.

“A year ago, the pyromancers and fire mages could only produce enough fire to light a torch. Now, they can build ladders of flames, storms of it bent to their will. Asshai has always been a place for magic, but even here it was fading. There were those that said the magic began to leach out of the world on the day the last dragon died. Now, the dragons have returned, and the magic has grown stronger again. They were honoring you for it,” said Nhehrai.

Dany looked back at Sycorax.

“Dragons are power. And power is dangerous,” she said.

“It can be, in the wrong hands.” Nhehrai clicked her nails together. She turned to Jorah. “Ser Jorah, if you walk north, you will come to the River of Ash. Turn right for two blocks and you will find a moonsinger, who will sell you a pendant of a bear.” She handed him a silver coin. He looked confused, turning to Dany.

“I’ll be alright,” said Dany.

Jorah took the coin and put on his mask, though he looked back at Nhehrai before he left, and Dany could imagine him narrowing his eyes with suspicion. 

“What is the pendant for?” asked Dany.

“To give us the privacy to speak alone.” Nhehrai went and sat beside the pool, running her red fingers through it. “What exactly do you seek?” she asked.

Dany joined her. “I need to learn to control my dragons. They grow fast, but I fear they are becoming more dangerous. One has already taken off on his own, and I dread the fate of the people who encounter him.”

“A dragon is not an easy thing to tame. The magic horns of Old Valyria have been lost in the Doom. Even the bravest of shadowbinders will not visit the ruins of that accursed land to find them. Still, there are those who say the first dragons came from the Shadow Lands and that it was the shadowbinders who taught your ancestors to ride them.”

“Quaithe said they used whips and horns and blood magic. I will not use whips on them. They are like my children.”

“We need not use whips, then. Blood magic will do perfectly.” It was impossible to tell for sure, but Dany suspected Nhehrai was smiling behind her mask.

***

Asshai was a strange place, but even there, Dany and Jorah were able to develop a sort of routine. Every day, Nhehrai would bring them breakfast, and then send Ser Jorah off on some pointless mission. He learned by day two that these tasks were meaningless, and so he soon stopped doing them. Instead, he wandered the city alone, learning as much about as he could about the place. He stayed out most of the day - though he was always careful to return before the sun went down - which gave Nhehrai time to instruct Dany in the ways of blood magic.

“Blood magic can be difficult and dangerous. If done wrong, the energy of it can turn on you, turn your own blood to poison in your veins. There is a reason we cover ourselves in tattoos. They protect us.” Nhehrai said this during one of their first lessons.

She had a small glass bottle of ink with her. Dany looked at the vial and then at the tattoos on Nhehrai’s arms. She suspected Nhehrai’s whole body looked much the same.

“I must have them all over? Even my face?” Dany asked. She disliked the thought of that.

“For now, just an arm will do. But, yes, it is paramount to have them.”

Dany sighed and gave Nhehrai her right arm. 

Nhehrai started at the top of her shoulder, first dipping a needle into the ink and then driving it into Dany’s skin. It burned and stung like a bloodfly bite, as Nhehrai worked her way down the arm. Dany gritted her teeth and tried not to flinch. Slowly, forms began to take shape on her skin. Some were animals, winged deer who kicked up their back legs, grinning alligators with long legs, dragons, and winged lions. Some of the markings were letters, though Dany did not recognize the language. Then they were patterns and repetitions of lines throughout, which meant nothing to Dany but looked quite pretty. Nhehrai reached Dany’s wrist and stopped, leaving her hand uncovered. The tattoo had taken hours to complete, leaving her arm sore and aching. The arm looked strange to her now, covered entirely in the patterns of black ink.

“Now we can begin,” said Nhehrai. “All magic requires sacrifice. Nothing is free.”

They started with simple spells, but soon moved into darker and more advanced magics. Quhuru had said that there were no animals in Asshai, but he had been wrong. Nhehrai brought a little sparrow one day and together they had used its life and blood to bring a beetle back to life. They conjured ghosts only to kill them again. They placed drops of crow’s blood on their tongues and used it to see the future, though really all Dany could see was whirling white shadows and dancing black flames. Dany grew stronger and more proficient, and she could feel Nhehrai’s unseen smile growing behind her mask.

Every night, Jorah would come home and once again ask if Dany wanted to leave Asshai. He grew more and more worried by the day, but he refused to leave her alone in such a place. Dany always told him that she had to stay. 

The dragons seemed to like Asshai, at least. They would spend their days flying across the city, and then perch on top of the tallest buildings and breathe immense streams of fire into the air while mages and warlocks gathered below them. They were revered here, and the longer Dany stayed, the more she could understand why. She was beginning to feel the energy that pulsed beneath the city, entering her whenever she practiced the blood rituals with Nhehrai and growing stronger whenever the dragons were near her.

Dany was losing track of time as the days passed. Every day, she ate, she met with Nhehrai, she refused to leave when Ser Jorah asked, and then at night she dreamed of dragons and corpses and shadows. She was growing more connected with the world of magic and losing the physical world around her. She couldn’t remember if they been there a week, a month, or ten years, and what was worse was that she didn’t care too much either way. Asshai was such a strange place.

Then one day, Nhehrai brought her a bottle of blood and set it on the floor.

“Call your dragons inside,” she said.

Dany did so and Sycorax and Viserion soon flew through the door and into the library. Nhehrai had put some meat out for them, which they quickly began to devour.

“It is time to tame them,” said Nhehrai.

Dany dipped her fingers in the bottle and began to draw symbols as Nhehrai described them onto the black floor of the library, swirls and letters and circles in circles, all laid out in blood. As she did so Viserion looked up at them, forgetting entirely about the meat he had been eating. As Nhehrai continued telling Dany what to write in blood, Viserion flew into the far corner of the room and curled himself into it, as if trying to hide from them. Dany remembered her vision the black dragon burning the city and she continued. She could not let her dragons become that.

Sycorax held her ground better than Viserion, but she, too, began to back away from the spell.

“Repeat after me,” said Nhehrai, and she began to chant in the Asshai’i language, pausing for Dany to say the words back to her. As they chanted, it looked as if the shadows in the hall were beginning to pulse and quiver, dancing across the dark floor.

“Now,” said Nhehrai, with shadows flashing across her mask. “Tell her to bow.”

Dany looked up and caught Sycorax’s eyes. They showed no fear, no anger, but something else that was far more terrible to see. Dany couldn’t look away from the dragon, thinking of the tiny helpless thing that Sycorax had once been. Dany had carried them so far, feeding them, helping them learn to fly. This was her child, her daughter, possibly the only daughter she would ever have. There was a screaming road in Dany’s ears as she looked at the broken sadness in Sycorax’s eyes.

“No,” said Dany. Her whole body was shaking.

“You must finish the spell.”

“No!” Dany shouted. She stood and kicked over the bottle of blood, spilling it across the floor, and ruining the drawings she had made. Her tattooed arm hurt, her dragons cowered, and it had all been for nothing. Emboldened by Dany’s rage, Sycorax snarled at Nhehrai and then leapt at the shadowbinder. Nhehrai ran from the dragon, who blew fire at her retreating back. Nhehrai darted out of the door, leaving behind her cloak in the rush.

Dany sank down to the floor.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Sycorax hissed a little and snapped her teeth. She lashed her tail and hit one of the columns, leaving a deep scratch in it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dany's Dreams:  
> *Dany sees two people with silver hair approaching the House of Black and White in Braavos. In the books, Jaqen H'ghar implies to Arya that the Faceless Men were at least partially responsible for the Doom of Old Valyria. The Targaryen family was one of the lesser Dragonlord families in Old Valyria, and may have resented their relatively low status. There's one fan theory, which I really like, that the Targaryens took their dragons to Dragonstone, and then went to Braavos and hired the Faceless Men to kill a bunch of the rival Dragonlord families. With so many Dragonlords dead, Old Valyria couldn't hold back the magic of the Fourteen Flames and the Doom happened. The Targaryens, however, were safe on Dragonstone and so they survived. In the dream, Dany sees two of her ancestors going to hire the Faceless Men.  
> *The boy who falls from the dragon is Joffrey Targaryen, a young prince. During the Dance of the Dragons (a big civil war in Westeros' history, between two rival Targaryen factions), Joffrey tried to ride his mother's dragon, Syrax. Dragons will only bond with one rider, however, so Syrax threw Joffrey off, killing him.  
> *Dany sees Jon Snow and Ghost fighting a wight.  
> *The woman is Old Nan, telling Bran Stark about the Others (White Walkers).  
> *The woman in the red dress is Melisandre, trying to create Lightbringer (the magic sword of Azor Ahai) for Stannis.  
> *"A man stabbed his wife through the heart" refers to Azor Ahai, who had to sacrifice his wife Nissa Nissa to create Lightbringer and end the darkness in the world. "A man ran through the snow with a broken blade" refers to the Last Hero, who fought the Others during the Long Night. Azor Ahai and the Last Hero are really closely related legendary figures, though Azor Ahai is known in eastern Essos, and the Last Hero is known in Westeros. There is a lot of speculation that they are different versions of the same story. There are other figures throughout Essos that are really similar as well, which makes it seem like every culture has its own version of this story: darkness came and a noble hero defeated it.  
> *The black dragon burning the city - "The Bells" was such a ridiculous episode of Game of Thrones, but it actually makes for a pretty good nightmare for Dany to have.


	10. City of the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *See the endnotes for a guide to the dreams and visions.*  
> The guide is mostly for the references I made to the book lore that aren't included in the show. Some of the visions are important to this story, and some are just a chance for me to include some of the crazy myths and legends from the books. I'll let you decide which is which.

When Jorah returned that night, he found the dragons sulking in the corner and Daenerys curled up in her bedroll, wrapped in Nhehrai’s cloak. He walked over and sat beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Can we leave this place? I can find a boat to take us to Leng or Yi Ti. From there, we can find a ship and go back west.”

Dany said nothing.

Jorah lay back on his own bedroll, wishing he had some comfort or wisdom to give her. He was clever enough when it came to battle and the ways of people, but the magic of this place left him at a loss. He wished they never had come here.

***

There were no dragons in Dany’s dreams that night, only dead men and dying.

An army of corpses savaged their way through a town, biting and tearing and stabbing all who lived within. Men, women, and crying babes all fell before them. Behind the horde of corpses, riding pale dead horses, sat twelve figures, six men and six women. They were beautiful, but milk white and icy eyed, and they watched the slaughtered without mercy.

A man of monstrous size took hold of a squalling babe and smashed his head against a wall, and then turned on the boy’s mother.

Snow fell, blanketing everything in sight, covering cities and fields and a chair made of swords.

Corpses drank blood in a dark hall and feasted on the living, and toasted each other with cups carved from ice.

There was a river, murky and rotten, and it glowed with a dull green light in the darkness. It led up to a city, a towering fortress, set into the rock at the bottom of a valley. High jagged cliffs rose above it. The tall iron gates creaked open, waiting for Dany. She went inside.

***

Dany awoke before Jorah. She put on her mask and pulled Nhehrai’s cloak tighter around herself, then walked outside, followed by the dragons. Asshai in the daytime was not much brighter than it was at night. The sun could barely pierce the thick fog and what little light did come through was muted by the greasy stone. 

Dany went north to the River Ash and walked along it until she found a boatman on the bank. He was a shadowbinder and when he saw her dragons, he bowed to them.

“Can you take me up the river?” she asked.

“Only the bravest of shadowbinders go upriver. But I will take you, Mother of Dragons.”

She climbed into the ferry and Sycorax followed. Viserion hesitated, taking his time to smell the dark waters of the river, but then he, too, came aboard. It was a tight fit, with the dragons both twice the size of horses by then, but they managed. The shadowbinder poured something into the river and then made a motion with his hand. The boat began to move forward, without oars or polls, but propelled by shadows.

As they moved beyond the city of Asshai, the boat began to gain speed, gliding past the mountains and cliff sides of the Shadow Lands. Dany began to see flashes of animals beneath the water’s surface: fish with two faces, eel-like creatures with clawed feet, and other malformed things. At one point Viserion looked like he might want to eat one of them, but then he seemed to think better of it and lay back down in the ferry.

The shadowbinder didn’t speak much, only moved his hand from time to time, muttering words under his breath as he kept the boat in motion. The day passed, the sun sank, and the river began to give off a faint green glow.

“How far will you go?” he asked.

“The city in the valley,” she told him.

“Stygai? You must not go there, Mother of Dragons. Even the shadowbinders do not go there. It is a cursed city. None return from it.”

“I have seen behind its walls. I have to go,” she said. She had dreamed of it the night before, and there were things within the fortress that she needed.

The shadowbinder shook his head, but he still took her all the way to the riverbank in front of the city. He pulled the ferry ashore.

“I will go no further,” he said.

The dragons leapt out first, but they did not take to the sky. They looked up at the fortress city of Stygai before them, the sheer walls tipped with black iron spikes, and they stayed close to Dany.

“I wish you luck,” said the shadowbinder, and he quickly turned the boat and went back down the river.

Dany turned to face the walls. The fortress towered above them, looking empty and dead. No lights shone other than the green glow of the river. On either side, the cliffs rose up even higher than the city. She led the way up to the gates, taking a moment to look at the wretched carvings on them, showing scenes of misery and terror. The gates creaked open.

***

There was something Dany was meant to be doing, something important, but her mind was a fog. She was alone. Was she meant to be alone? No, she hadn’t been earlier. There were two with her. Two what? She didn’t know anymore.

“Promise me, Ned,” she said to herself.

A sound echoed behind her, footsteps. They walked at first and then they ran, and Dany ran, too, like a hare runs before a hound. She sprinted through the shadowed hallways of the fortress. There was snarling behind her, growling, hungry mouths, covered in red, covered in blood. She ran.

There was something beneath her skin, crawling under her. It burned. It boiled. Dany scratched viciously at the writhing skin until it bled.

She saw an old man, twitching and fidgeting on a his throne of swords. There were cuts over his arms and a crazed look in his eyes. “Burn them,” he said. “Burn them all.”

“I will not be the Queen of Ashes,” Dany told the shadows.

A dragon has two wing and two legs. Not none. That’s a fire worm. Not four legs. That doesn’t exist. Sorcerers bred their slaves to beasts, and abominations were born. 

Why was her head so cloudy?

The city screamed and Dany ran, her mouth filling with dust and ash that choked her and burned her lungs. She couldn’t keep running. She had to keep running. The dead were chasing her.

When Aerea Targaryen returned home, there were worms beneath her skin that boiled her alive from the inside.

The Deep Ones come and the Children shatter them back.

The dead were pale men with hungry red mouths, snarling and frothing for flesh. They chased like hounds. The dead should not bother the living. They did not want to die again. What is dead may never die. Dany ran faster.

The fortress was like a maze, all built of greasy black stone. It oozed and stank and tried to trick her. She couldn’t get out.

“Sycorax!” Dany screamed.

Why was she alone?

She ducked behind a wall, panting hard. Her face felt wet and when she reached up and touched her cheek, she realized she was crying, her tears mixing with black ash.

“I will not be the Queen of Ashes.”

The mothers cried, too, as their children burned beneath the black dragon. The city screamed. The dragons brought magic back into the world. What did they awake with it?

The growling grew louder and Dany had to keep running. Hungry mouths, hungry mouths. They chased and hunted and feasted and ripped apart.

Where were her children?

The throne room was empty and the king was dead. The fool dragged the little girl into the sea. Dany ran to the throne, but it was just a sharp chair made of broken swords. She grabbed the hilt of one and pulled it from the others, and she held it close to her, hugging its warmth.

The dead had found her. Pale faces, hairless and pale, hungry mouths, sharp, sharp teeth. They were going to rip her apart. Dany closed her eyes and then felt a blast of heat on her face. When she opened them again, she saw black fire engulfing the dead, turning their emaciated bodies to ash and bone. Sycorax landed in front of Dany and screamed at the corpses. Dany’s mind felt slightly clearer as she looked at the dragon. She was standing in the abandoned fortress of Stygai, holding a broken sword in her hand. Sycorax turned, spewing fire at the creatures that lurked in the shadows. With every burst of dragonfire, though, more came to take their place. They were white, sickly looking things, similar to humans, but warped and rotten. They caught fire like kindling, but more kept coming. Dany approached Sycorax and put her hand on the dragon’s wing. Sycorax’s body was longer than Dany was tall by now, her head was bigger than a horse’s. Sycorax turned and screamed at Dany, but Dany didn’t flinch. Keeping the sword in her hand, she grabbed one of the spines on the dragon’s back and pulled herself up. 

Sycorax blew fire again, killing the next wave of the dead. She leapt up, flapping hard, but fell back to the floor. They were too heavy to fly. With a shriek, Sycorax tried again, beating her wings with such power, the dead were knocked back by the gales she created. They lifted up and flew out of the fortress, into the cool mist of the clouds above it. 

Dany’s skin felt hot and her lungs ached, but she clung to Sycorax’s back as hard as she could, watching the green river curling below them. 

Stygai was a cursed place, where nothing made sense and everything hurt. She knew now why the shadowbinders avoided it. She closed her eyes, gripping Sycorax tightly.

***

Viserion was the first to return to Asshai. He came crashing down onto one of the streets, with one of his wings torn. It was dripping black blood that smoked and eroded the stones on the street like acid. The dragon was frantic, his eyes wide like a crazed horse. A fire mage was standing nearby and Viserion nearly killed him with white fire. The man just barely managed to redirect it and run for cover. Viserion smashed his tail against walls and columns of the surrounding buildings, breathed fire, and screamed.

Ser Jorah heard the cries of the dragon and ran through the streets toward the noise. He had awoken the previous morning to find Dany and the dragons gone, and had spent the past two days searching the city for them. Asshai was vast and its population was small, so there were few people to ask if they had seen Dany, and those he did ask had not been forthcoming. Now he sprinted for the sound of dragons.

Jorah rounded a corner and found Viserion thrashing and limping on a ripped wing. Viserion turned on him and for a moment he seemed to recognize Jorah.

“Viserion, calm. Just stay calm,” said Jorah, speaking softly to the dragon. Viserion opened his mouth and Jorah only just managed to jump out of the way behind a building when Viserion breathed fire. The dragonfire blew past Jorah, singing the hair from his arm. Nothing in Jorah’s not life - not the wars he had fought or his years travelling across Essos - had prepared him for dealing with a terrified and angry dragon.

In the distance, Jorah heard a song, a high, haunting tune that echoed and bounced off the buildings. It was quiet at first, but growing steadily louder. He glanced out from behind the building and saw the dragon sway, his head drooping down. A group of about a dozen moonsingers came toward the dragon from one of the side streets, continuing their song as Viserion wavered on his back legs. After a time, Viserion slumped forward and then collapsed in the street, fast asleep. Jorah got up and went over to them.

One of the moonsingers was inspecting Viserion’s left wing, which looked as if it had been raked by claws. None of the bones seemed broken, but the membrane was torn.

“He has been to Stygai,” said the woman.

“Even dragons should not go there,” said another one. 

Jorah had heard of the place, though only in vague tales from travellers. It had once been a well-populated city of the Shadow Lands and a trading partner with Asshai. But long ago some great tragedy had befallen Stygai. The Asshai’i said it was haunted and cursed. They called it the City of the Night, the corpse city, and they never travelled there.

“Can you help him?” Jorah asked the moonsingers.

“We will help,” they said. 

Three of them sat beside Viserion’s head and sang to him, keeping him in his slumber, and the others darted away into the streets, soon to return with vials of green liquid and tinkling bells. They applied the liquid to the wound, and sang until it glowed like a firefly abdomen. Others rang the bells and pet the dragon’s head.

Jorah watched the sky, looking for Sycorax.

People began to gather around the dragon to watch the moonsingers work. From his time in the city, Jorah had learned that the different factions of magic users and religious zealots rarely got along. The moonsingers disliked the worshippers of the Black Goat and the Pale Child. The priests and priestesses of R’hllor claimed all other gods to be thralls of the Great Other and all other religions to be heresy. The necromancers looked down on the pyromancers. Most people feared the maegis and their blood magic. All people feared the shadowbinders. But they stood together now around the injured dragon, and they did not argue.

There was a shriek from overhead. The sky had grown dark, but through the fog and the night, Jorah could just barely make out a shadow descending toward them. Sycorax came into view as she flew over a tall spire, arcing downward and then pulling up to land near her brother. It took Jorah a moment to realize that Daenerys was clinging onto the dragon’s back. He ran forward but Sycorax turned to him and roared, showing her sharp teeth. A few shadowbinders and mages tried to approach, but Sycorax snapped and breathed warning bursts of fire at them.

The moonsingers stepped away from Viserion and began to sing to Sycorax. It took much longer to put her to sleep, as she was a larger dragon. She continued to snarl as her body began to sway and she lost her balance. She surged back upright, baring her teeth, but the moonsingers continued, until at last the dragon fell and stayed down. She didn’t seem hurt, at least. Both her wings were intact and Jorah could see no scratches or wounds on her body. Daenerys, however, was not moving. Jorah ran to her and pulled her down from the dragon’s back, checking to see if she was breathing. A broken sword hilt fell from her hand and clattered onto the street. She was barely conscious, but alive. Her skin felt feverish and sweaty. Her eyes bled and rolled back in her head, and the words she spoke were strange and nonsensical.

“Promise me, Ned,” she said.

Jorah laid her down on the street, and several people bent over her.

“I will not be the Queen of Ashes. Fire beneath the skin. The city burns, the city screams.” Her words came out slurred and murmured.

Jorah felt her forehead, which burned most of all, and her arms. Everywhere her skin radiated heat, except for the tattooed arm. There the skin felt normal, almost clammy in comparison.

“ _ Hrash shakar Stygai _ ,” said the familiar voice of Nhehrai, who bent over Dany and felt her skin.

“Aerea came home with worms beneath her skin and boiled from the inside out,” said Dany.

As she said it, Jorah saw movement under her skin. He lifted her left arm and looked closely at it. Something snakelike moved beneath the surface, as if there were things crawling inside of her.

“She has caught the cursed plague,” said Nhehrai.

“Can you cure her?” he asked. He had never heard of a plague like this. He just wanted Dany to survive it.

“Help me get her inside,” Nhehrai said. It wasn’t exactly an answer.

Jorah lifted Dany and carried her into a building that Nhehrai showed him. Inside was an enormous hearth, big enough for an elephant to stand in, which burned with red hot fire. There were shelves of numerous horrible things along the walls, jars of preserved fetuses, bones and mounted heads of every animal Jorah could think of, poisons, powders, and many vials of blood. In the center of the room was a table, which Jorah laid Dany upon. She looked like a sacrifice, laying on it like that. 

Nhehrai grabbed some powder from the shelves and threw it onto the fire, which turned blue and flared up even higher. The room grew cold, as if the blue flames were made of ice. 

“Leave, Jorah the Andal. This is no place for you,” said Nhehrai, grabbing more things from her shelves, including a long curved dagger.

He didn’t move.

“To cure her requires the conjuring of shadows. It will not be safe for you here. The magic will eat your mind and turn your flesh to stone.” Nhehrai spoke more firmly this time.

Jorah paused, squeezing Dany’s hand, and then went back out on the street to wait outside.

It was agonizing to wait and do nothing, sitting out on the damp stones. People began to gather around him. He watched as two of them, a priest and priestess of R’hllor, entered the building. Worshippers of the Black Goat of Qohor arrived, leading actual black goats to the street in front of the building, and slit their throats, chanting and rubbing the blood on the door lintel.

Jorah felt sick. He never should have let her come here. She was too young, too good, to die of a burning plague in such a horrible place. But how could he have stopped her? She was the Mother of Dragons.

***

The sorcerers of Asshai worked to cure Daenerys for days. They went in rounds, the red priests and priestesses, the shadowbinders, and the maegis, all trying to banish the cursed plague from her. Jorah spent his days sitting outside the building, which he had started to call the witch’s den. He hardly slept or ate, unless Nhehrai came out and made him, but he only waited by the door. At night, he would sometimes see ghosts passing through the streets of Asshai. Some nights he saw far worse things, but still he stayed.

The moonsingers eventually allowed the two dragons to wake. Sycorax joined Jorah outside the witch’s den, but Viserion flew away on his healed wing. He headed northwest, flying toward Yi Ti. Jorah couldn’t exactly blame the poor dragon for leaving.

At last, on the thirteenth day, Dany’s fever broke, and Nhehrai let Jorah back inside the witch’s den. Dany looked pale and thin, but her eyes were opened and focused. She reached out and Jorah took her hand. They said nothing, but he stood by her for a long while, until she fell asleep.

Nhehrai picked up a jar from the table, filled with horrible creatures that looked like worms, thin as a hair and ranging in size from as long as a fingernail to as long as a hand. They were dead by then, thank the Old Gods and the New, and floating in yellow liquid. 

“They would have grown far worse over time,” said Nhehrai, tapping the jar. “We caught it all early.”

Jorah didn’t want to think about that. The thought of the worms was horrible enough as it was.

Nhehrai put the jar up on her shelf and came over to touch Dany’s sleeping face.

“Foolish girl,” she said, though there was some affection in her voice.

“Do you know when the next ship leaves?” asked Jorah.

“A few days.”

“We will be on it,” he said firmly. He didn’t care where they went - Yi Ti, Leng, Great Moraq - he just wanted to put the Shadow Lands far behind them and never look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream/Vision Guide  
> *The worms beneath Dany's skin and the Aerea Targaryen reference are from a story in "Fire and Blood" (a history of the Targaryen family by GRRM). Basically, Aerea was a rebellious Targaryen princess. She rode Balerion the Black Dread some time after Aegon the Conquerer had died, but both she and Balerion disappeared/ran away for a year. When they returned, Aerea was dying of disease and Balerion had a wound in his side. The maesters tried to treat Aerea, but she died from the disease. They ended up finding these horrible worms under her skin, which had boiled her from the inside out. It's a super creepy story. A lot of readers think she and Balerion went to the ruins of Old Valyria, but I wanted to play with the idea that they actually went to Stygai. Who knows, though? There are a lot of cursed places in Westeros and Essos.  
> *The dragons with four legs or no legs. There was some maester who believed that dragons were created by breeding fyreworms with other monstrous creatures.  
> *There are also rumors that sorcerers in the old Valyrian Freehold liked to create human-animal hybrids with dark magic.  
> *The Deep Ones are a legendary race of creatures from the oceans. They are thought to be connected to the Seastone Chair (the throne on the Iron Islands), which is made from the same oily black stone as the buildings in Asshai. I think they are a reference to an old HP Lovecraft story. Some people believe the Children of the Forest fought the Deep Ones, as well as the Others/White Walkers.  
> *The Fool dragged the little girl into the sea. In the books, there's a very creepy character named Patchface. He almost drowned as a young boy (or possibly did drown and came back to life), and when they rescued him, he had lost all his memories and most of his mind. He's a fool in Stannis Baratheon's court and a companion of Shireen. He sings these strange songs that sound like nonsense, but he actually predicted the Red Wedding and some other tragedies. In one of the songs he sings to Shireen, he says "Come with me beneath the sea, away, away," which seems ominous.  
> *the warm, broken sword is a reference to Lightbringer and the broken sword of the Last Hero.


	11. Missandei

Missandei followed Kraznys mo Nakloz through the Plaza of Punishment to look at the new slaves that had just been brought on a ship from Naath. She could remember the day when she and her brothers had been brought to this exact place, when she was just eight years old. After the ship voyage, chained together and crammed into a windowless room in the hull, she had been happy just to get out into the fresh air and to see the sky again. Her relief had not lasted long. All slaves came into Astapor through the Plaza of Punishment, a pit of red brick that was lined with the crucified bodies of disobedient slaves, a warning to all. Some of them were even still alive. The more minor offenders were hung with their arms straight up, which forced the air from their lungs and killed them quickly. Harsher sentences were given to greater offenses, and those were hung with their arms at an angle, where they could languish for days before death came for them.

“Not a bad selection,” said Kraznys, looking over the new arrivals.

The slaver was a man from Westeros, so Missandei had to translate his common tongue for Kraznys. She had heard once that slavery was not allowed in Westeros, though she had met enough slavers from the land that she had her doubts. This one was an unassuming man with twitchy eyes.

“Master Kraznys, a fine group, I think you will agree,” said the Westerosi. Missandei translated.

“This fool will not know what they are worth. Tell him I think they are all shit,” said Kraznys in the bastard Valyrian of Astapor.

“Master Kraznys says the slaves do not look like they are in good condition. They are skinny and seem feeble,” she said.

The Westerosi took some offense.

“These are the finest slaves to be taken from the island of Naath. Docile. Beautiful,” he cried.

Missandei took a moment to look over their faces. She, herself, had been born in Naath. She didn’t recognize any of these new arrivals. It had been nearly eleven years since she had been taken.

“Offer him half price,” said Kraznys.

“Master Kraznys says the slaves are worth two hundred and fifty gold pieces, but he is generous and will offer you three hundred.”

The Westerosi thought about it for a moment and held out his arm for Kraznys to clasp. Kraznys looked at it disdainfully, but then grasped it.

“The Westerosi can’t haggle for shit. I wish all slavers were so stupid.”

“Master Kraznys says he hopes you can do business again,” said Missandei.

One of Kraznys’ personal slaves brought the gold for the Westerosi, who went back to his ship. The new slaves from Naath were escorted out of the plaza, through the red city, and to the base of Kraznys’ step pyramid, where his new house slaves were trained.

“Come, girl. Let’s go see my monster.” 

Kraznys led the way through his pyramid down past the slave housing and into the deep pit that lay in the deep bowels of the structure. Unsullied guards escorted them and Missandei carried a torch to light their way down.

It was dark in the pit, and the light from Missandei’s single torch did not carry far across the abyss. They stood on a brick ledge, looking down into the blackness. For a moment, Missandei wondered how easy it would be to push Kraznys off the ledge, to plummet down to his death. But the Unsullied would kill her no more than a second later, and Missandei did not want to die.

There was a growl from the far side of the pit, and Missandei thought she saw a glint of something gold. She squinted.

Suddenly, a burst of green and blue flame erupted from the far side of the pit, illuminating the scaled face of a dragon. Missandei heard the clink of chains and the beating of wings, and then there was another plume of fire, but it could not reach them. The dragon was chained tight to the floor and could not fly far. Kraznys smirked down at the beast. It was hard to see it in the dark pit, but Missandei knew it was large, over twenty feet long from nose to tail, she had heard, and with a wide wingspan.

“The next slave to disobey will not be crucified. I would like to see them fed to my monster,” Kraznys said, a hungry glint in his eye.

The dragon let out a new sound then, not a growl or a snarl, but a sort of song-like cry, full of anguish.

***

Kraznys owned one of the largest shares in the Unsullied army and liked to personally oversee their training. Missandei followed him like a shadow through the immense training grounds and barracks, always wondering if her brothers were amongst the men she saw. They had been taken as slaves at the same time she had been and sent to train as Unsullied. She knew one of them had died in a training accident, but the other two, Mossador and Marselen might still be alive. They would have different names now, slaves names to remind them of their place. White Rat, Blue Louse, Black Leech. 

The boys were usually taken at age five to begin the harsh training of the Unsullied, though some boys were a little older when they began, those who were only taken as slaves as older boys or those that were scrawny and weak when younger, but grew strong and fast with time. The training was harsh and any disobedience was punished with whips or starvation. The boys who proved inadequate were sold away to work on farms or to serve as cheap and expendable infantry for warlords and rich men. Only the best became Unsullied, masters of the sword, shield, and three spears. They felt no fear or pain. They were obedient without question.

One of the job of the Unsullied boys in training was to nail the disobedient slaves to the wooden crosses in the Plaza of Punishment. This was to ensure that all mercy had been drilled out of them, as well as any hesitation to obey orders. The boys that did refuse were beaten and sold, or sometimes nailed to a cross themselves. Few of the boys refused.

When the boys grew older, they were cut. As adult soldiers, this made them more slender than other warriors, but the Unsullied outmatched them in discipline, strategy, and dauntless courage. The Good Masters loved to tell the story of the Three Thousand of Qohor, an Unsullied army that stood against a hoard of Dothraki fifty thousand strong. They locked their shields and met the horse charge with spears, and they won the day, protecting the city of Qohor.

Today, Kraznys and Missandei watch as the Unsullied fought with blunted swords and shields, whirling through the practice yard, while their trainers walked among them with whips. These were not the young green boys. These were the men who had already been cut and initiated into the Unsullied. They had not yet been purchased, and so they continued to train each day to keep their skills sharp.

They moved like panthers, quick and merciless, as they darted and struck at each other with the swords. It was a blur of motion, until at last one would best the other and knock him down.

Missandei watched one of the Unsullied, who had not yet been bested in the yard. He knocked down opponent after opponent, spinning his sword and pacing until a new challenger came to him. He looked up, toward Missandei and Kraznys and hesitated. He didn’t notice a new adversary had come to stand before him, until the second man knocked him down into the dust.

“Torgo Nudho!” shouted the trainer. He lashed his whip across the Unsullied’s legs and the man rose back to his feet, still looking at Missandei. She couldn’t see what he looked like under his helmet, but his skin was brown. He could be Naathi, or Jogos Nhai, or mixed. It was hard to tell.

“A buyer is coming tomorrow, from Lorath. He says he wants three hundred of them,” said Kraznys.

Missandei said nothing. Kraznys spoke to her often, but rarely expected her to say anything back to him. Sometimes she wondered if he truly realized that she heard his words. She did, though. She understood them, and remembered them. 

The Unsullied were dismissed from the training yard and she watched the one called Torgo Nudho, glancing back at them, before he went back into the barracks. They gave the Unsullied such wretched names. Torgo Nudho. Grey Worm, in the common tongue.

***

Missandei led a sheep down the steps inside the pyramid, going deeper and deeper into the earth. The dragon in the pit had already burnt and killed two Unsullied guards who had tried to feed him, and Kraznys was growing frustrated with the beast. The Unsullied were expensive. Every one he had to replace was one that would not bring him a profit.

“He should be lucky to have food at all. Arrogant creature,” Kraznys had barked. 

“This one would suggest using lesser slaves to feed the dragon. Many of the stray dogs of Astapor growl at the men who pass, but not the girls. This one could do it,” said Missandei. She didn’t speak out of turn often, so she held her breath for Kraznys’ reaction. 

He glanced at her, which was something he rarely did.

“Fine, fine. Take a sheep down to him.”

As she bowed and left him, she could hear him muttering about the cost of translators.

Missandei continued downward, past the level where Kraznys liked to stand on the ledge and watch the dragon. Her torch threw long shadows across the narrow staircase. She went down until she was level with the floor of the pit, where the dragon could reach the food and where it could reach her.

Perhaps this was the most foolish thing she had ever done and she would die in the most horrible way. 

The narrow door to the pit had been made of wood and had been burnt down to nothing, leaving a small opening in the brick wall. It was not big enough for the dragon to fit through, even if he hadn’t been chained, but he could breathe fire through the doorway. Missandei assumed he often did this, judging by the scorch marks that surrounded the doorway and the walls. Missandei approached as quietly as she could. She didn’t hear the dragon moving inside, and she hoped he was asleep. She led the sheep through the door and bent down to tie the sheep’s rope to one of the metal rings on the floor. As she rose, she saw two green pricks of light from the dragon’s eyes, reflecting the fire from her torch. She backed away, and once she was out of the pit, she turned and ran up the stairs as fast as she could. 

***

If Kraznys was surprised when Missandei returned still alive after feeding the dragon, he did not show it. He rarely paid much attention to her presence and even less to her absence. Still, he allowed her to continue offering sheep and goats to the dragon, to spare his Unsullied from the fires.

Once a week, Missandei would lead the offering down to the pit and the dragon would wait in the darkness as she tied down the animal and left. Then, once she was out of sight, she would hear him kill his prey.

Missandei was one of the few slaves in the city who could read, having been trained as a scribe soon after her arrival in Astapor. It made her both a useful and a dangerous slave to have. She had read about dragons before in Kraznys’ books. He didn’t allow her to read the books, but she had learned to take them one at a time from his library, hide them under her cot to read at night, and then return them.

The books said that in Old Valyria, the sky had been full of dragons, of every color imaginable. Some were so large they could cast an entire city into shadow when they flew over. The Valyrians had been simple shepherds before the dragons came, but after, the dragon riders were able to defeat the slave empire of Ghis. Then the Valyrians, too, had become slavers, and were perhaps even more brutal than the Ghiscari.

The green dragon was a shy one for the most part. Whenever Kraznys went to the ledge of the pit to look down on him, however, the dragon would lunge forward, breathing fire at the Master. His chains held him to the floor, unable to reach. It was the only time Missandei ever got to see him. Whenever she fed him, he kept himself hidden in the darkness.

One day, Missandei tied the goat to the floor, and turned to leave. Then she stopped. She heard the rattle of chains on the brick and held her torch up high, trying to see. Slowly the dragon came out of the shadows. He hadn’t grown much since the first time she had seen him, and there was something almost gaunt about him. She had no other dragons to compare him to, but she thought he looked a bit sickly. His scales were brilliantly green in the firelight, as were his eyes. His head was spiked with horns and spines ran down his neck and his tail. The scales on his body looked thick and protective, but the skin was thing across his wings. Missandei could see long scars running over the membranes of his wings. She knew the look of them well. They were whip scars. She had seen them often on the backs of slaves in the Plaza of Punishment. The dragon was chained by his back legs and his neck, though it looked like the chain on his neck may soon become too small for him.

The dragon moved forward to the goat, which was bleating and trying to pull away. His lips pulled back into a snarl and a deep growl reverberated out of his chest. Missandei did not dare turn her back on him, so she walked backwards to the the doorway and out of sight.

The next week, the dragon did the same. He came into the light, eyeing Missandei suspiciously, but allowing her to see him before she backed out of the room. He growled less at her than he had before.

Slowly, week by week, the dragon came closer, sometimes even eating the sheep or goat in front of her. It was a bit terrifying to see him breath fire up close and then rip into the burnt animal, but she decided it must be a sign of trust, and so she stayed and politely watched the dragon finish eating before she left.

Then, he let her touch him. At first, he flinched away from her hand on his wing, whipping his head around to look at her. 

“Shh, shh, it will be alright,” she said. Slowly, she raised her hand to his face and ran her fingers over the scales. He huffed out smoke from his mouth, but he let her keep her hand there for a moment.

***

Missandei awoke one morning to find Kraznys in high spirits. She wondered if he had news of a buyer, but it seemed that wasn’t it.

“You will feed my monster today,” he said.

“Yes, Master Kraznys,” said Missandei. It wasn’t the usual day for feeding the dragon.

Some guests began arriving at the step pyramid, members of the Good Masters of Astapor. Among them was Grazdan mo Ullhor, who owned major shares of the Unsullied with Kraznys. They were all dressed in their finest silk tokars.

Two Unsullied brought forward a girl in chains, no more than twelve. She looked to be of Dothraki descent, which was soon confirmed as she began to shout and plead in Dothraki.

“A most unruly slave,” said Grazdan passively.

“Take her down to the pit,” Kraznys told Missandei. He then turned to the Good Masters. “Come, we will have a good view of the kill.”

Missandei had seen numerous slaves killed and beaten, but she had never inflicted such pain on another. She felt like she might be sick.

The Unsullied escorted the Dothraki girl down the narrow staircase as Missandei led them down toward the pit. Missandei kept her gaze ahead, and did not look back at the girl. They reached the open doorway marred by scorch marks, and Missandei told the Unsullied to wait in the hall. She took the girl’s chains and pulled her into the pit.

“No fear,” she whispered in Dothraki.

The dragon came forward toward Missandei and turned his head to get a good look at the Dothraki girl. She did not scream, which was good, but she was still shaking.

“I have seen this dragon before. In Vaes Dothrak,” the girl said.

High above them, the Good Masters sat in chairs on the ledge, waiting for the spectacle to begin. Missandei dropped her torch and the fire went out, leaving the pit in darkness.

“Can you see a thing?” asked one of the Masters impatiently to another.

In the darkness, Missandei made her way over to the dragon, and felt her wait up his neck until she touched the metal collar. She found the bolt that held it in place and pulled it out, so the collar fell off with an echoing thunk. 

The Masters were growing more impatient.

“Eat, you stupid creature,” shouted Kraznys.

Missandei moved along the dragon’s body to his legs and removed the chains there, as well. The dragon stayed still as she worked, and then, once she had finished, he blew green fire into the air. There was a gasp from the Good Masters, and then clapping. 

The dragon leapt up, nearly knocking Missandei over with his wings. She could hear his wingbeats as he flew up and then she saw his green scales begin to catch the light from the torches on the ledge. The clapping stopped. Someone screamed.

“Dracarys,” Missandei said softly.

The green dragon spewed fire onto the ledge and the Masters shrieked in pain. Some fell, still burning, into the pit and Missandei and the Dothraki girl ran out of the way. Missandei could see Kraznys, set afire like a human candle and desperately thrashing, until he collapsed. The dragon landed on the ledge and began feasting on the bodies. 

Missandei ran out of the pit. The Unsullied were gone from hallway. They had probably run to defend the Masters, so she had to run, too, as fast as she could. She was breathing hard as she went, but didn’t slow. 

A group of about twelve Unsullied were marching toward the dragon on the ledge, spears and shields raised, and urged on by the few surviving Masters. Missandei ran past them to stand on the ledge with the dragon.

“Wait!” she shouted.

“Kill them both!” said Grazdan.

Kraznys’s whip was lying on the ledge next to his body. It was the symbol of his status and power as a Good Master, giving him dominion over the Unsullied and the other slaves. The handle was gold, shaped into a harpy with ruby eyes, and the end had nine tails of braided leather, called the fingers of the harpy. Missandei picked it up and held it above her head.

“Dovaogedys, slay the Masters,” she said.

The dragon brought his head next to hers and began to growl. The Unsullied hesitated for a moment, and then one turned and plunged his spear into Grazdan mo Ullhor’s stomach. The others followed his lead, cutting down the two remaining Masters as they tried to flee. Missandei climbed onto the dragon’s back. She was probably too heavy for him to carry as he flew, but he could walk on his wings and feet easily enough with her on his back.

“Come, gather all of Kraznys’s guards. We are going to the barracks of the Unsullied.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Dany in this chapter, but she'll be back in the next one.  
> Also, I made a few slight changes to the Unsullied training, because it didn't make a lot of sense to me in the books or the show. They say only one in three or four boys survives the training, and then each Unsullied has to kill a baby. That is a tremendous waste of life, from a moral perspective, but also even if you are a horrid slave owner who doesn't care about life, it seems like a waste of money, as well. So in this story, the boys who fail training are sold away, not killed, and there won't be any baby killing.


	12. The Rebellion

Dany and Jorah sailed away from Asshai to Yin, a large port city in the YiTish Empire. It was a beautiful and grand metropolis, sitting amidst the lush green jungle. The buildings were painted red and gold and bordered by a myriad of parks, gardens, and plazas. Yi Ti was a very wealthy empire according to Ser Jorah.

They would have stayed a few days there, allowing Dany to recover more from her illness, but in the port, the sailors told them that a plague of greyscale had broken out along the coastline. Jorah quickly bought passage away from Yi Ti on a ship carrying saffron to sell in Slaver’s Bay.

It smelled wonderful on board, but the scent of the spice did not ease Dany’s seasickness. She hadn’t been too terribly sick on boats before, but she supposed it was an after effect of the disease she had gotten in Stygai. She spent the first day of the voyage spilling her stomach over the rail, with Sycorax curled protectively around her. One of the YiTish sailors gave her some ginger to chew on for the seasickness. She wasn’t sure it helped much, but it gave her something to concentrate on and it made her mouth taste better.

As the days passed, her stomach slowly settled and Jorah began to ask her about Stygai. He had avoided the topic at first, as if thinking that she was too weak to talk about it.

“Why did you go to such an awful place?” he finally asked her. They sat together on the deck, watching the still sea move past them. Dany took a moment to answer, instead focusing on the sun glinting on the water.

“Prophecies never make sense, do they?” she said.

“No, and you must be careful of them.”

“I went to Asshai to find a way to tame my dragons, but the night before I went to Stygai, I dreamt about something else. In my dream, I saw myself entering the fortress. I walked through until I found the throne room, and there in a magnificent sheath lay a sword that shined like the sun and was a warm as dragon scales. A monster attacked me and I cut him with the sword and he shattered into pieces.”

“That sounds like -”

“Lightbringer,” Dany finished for him. “And I, in my arrogance, thought I was Azor Ahai reborn. I thought I would find the sword and emerge anew from Stygai with all my questions answered, all my fears gone.” She pulled her knees up and rested her chin on them.

Jorah squeezed her shoulder.

“What did you find there?”

“Dead things. And a broken sword.”

Jorah waited, letting her tell the tale in her own time.

“As soon as we went through the gates, nothing made sense, not time or space or any sort of rationality. I found myself alone, without the dragons. There were things chasing me, hungry corpses. Maybe ghosts. I’m not even sure if they were real or not. They could have been yet another mad vision. I saw such strange things.”

“What sorts of things?”

“A woman in a room full of blue flowers. ‘Promise me, Ned.’ She said that over and over.”

“Ned Stark?” he asked.

Dany didn’t know. She had heard plenty of stories of Lord Stark, but had never seen the man. She continued. “There were creatures. Horrible worms the size of dragons, some with a thousand little legs, some with faces like men. And… other things.” Dany couldn’t bring herself to talk about the hybrid creatures she had seen, made of human slaves bred to animals. “There was a black dragon burning a city. Balerion, I think,” she said, but she glanced at Sycorax.

Jorah followed her gaze. “In your fever, you kept saying ‘I will not be the Queen of Ashes.’ Did that mean anything?”

“I don’t remember.” Dany took out her horse necklace from Irri and rubbed the idol.

“Is there anything else that you do remember?”

“A demon. A fool. The iron throne. I pulled a sword from it, thinking it was Lightbringer, but it was just a broken hilt.”

They were quiet for a time as the ship rocked in the sea.

“You may not be Azor Ahai, but you are still the Mother of Dragons,” said Jorah.

“Some mother I am. I have lost two of my children.”

“We will find them. A dragon cannot hide in the world for long.”

***

They sailed into the Gulf of Grief, past the Isle of Cedars and around the peninsula toward Astapor. As they approached, they saw smoke on the horizon. Thick black plumes of it drifted up into the sky.

The sailors of Yi Ti began to shout. They lowered the anchor, keeping the ship still in the bay, not wanting to approach the smoking city. Ser Jorah went to speak with one of them.

“They say Astapor must have been attacked. They are going to continue on to Yunkai,” he told Dany when he returned.

She nodded. Sycorax was watching the distant city with interest and shrieked. Dany went over to her, petting her for a moment, and then climbed onto her back. Sycorax walked across the ship, gaining speed and scattering sailors, and then leapt over the rail, soaring out over the water with Dany holding tight to her spines.

Dany had been barely conscious and not at all lucid during her first ride on the dragon, but now she could experience it fully. Sycorax flew low across the bay, dipping her tail into the water and sending up a spray of mist behind her. The feeling was incredible. Riding the silver mare had not even come close to the true feeling of flying.

“Higher,” said Dany in Valyrian. 

Sycorax rose upward, beating her wings powerfully down and sending ripples across the surface of the water. The sea fell away beneath them as they climbed into the air.

Black smoke billowed over the red brick city. Black and red, the colors of her house, Dany thought.

They soared past the Harpy of Astapor, an old statue of a woman with bat wings for arms and a scorpion tail that sat looking out on the harbor. In the streets below, Dany could see Unsullied soldiers running with spears and swords, cutting down men and slashing the collars off of slaves. Some of them paused, looking up at her and Sycorax and raised their spears, not to threaten her, but almost like a sort of cheer. 

Sycorax landed on a wall and Dany watched them for a moment. A little slave girl stood in the street as a unit of Unsullied charged forward. Dany was about to land Sycorax in the street, but one of the Unsullied grabbed the girl, cut her collar, and carried her out of the way, before continuing with the others. They were efficient fighters, though the men they killed seemed to only carry whips, and rarely swords. Dany saw only a few soldiers fighting back against the Unsullied, and they fell quickly enough.

Then Dany heard it. Across the city came a familiar cry, the shriek of a dragon. Sycorax raised her head and screamed back. Dany nudged her and they flew over the pyramids and fighting pits toward the sound. Sycorax beat her wings hard, gaining speed, and then pulled up over an enormous plaza. There were a few smoking bodies lying around it, but Dany barely glanced at them. In the center of the plaza, with his scales shimmering in the sunlight, was Rhaegal.

Next to the dragon stood a girl a few years older than Dany, with dark skin and curly black hair. She looked as stunned to see Sycorax as Dany was to see Rhaegal. Sycorax landed in the plaza and began to walk toward her brother. Dany was tense as she held on to Sycorax, thinking about how the two dragons had parted ways. They were both much bigger now, especially Sycorax, and could do more damage to each other if it came to another fight.

Instead, the two dragons pressed their heads together, quiet for a moment. Dany climbed down from Sycorax and went over to Rhaegal. He had grown so much since he had flown away, though not nearly as much as Sycorax. He was skinny, though, sort of gaunt. She noticed the scars on his wings. She lifted her hand and pet his nose. He snorted a puff of smoke, but pressed against her hand. Then Dany turned to the girl.

“Hello,” she said, not exactly sure where to begin.

“Hello,” said the girl.

“My name is Daenerys Stormborn of-of House Targaryen.”

“This one is -  _ I _ am - Missandei. Of Naath. Is this your dragon?”

Dany nodded. “His name is Rhaegal. I hatched him from an egg, but then he...ran away one day. What happened to him? What happened here?” Dany gestured to the smoking city.

Missandei told her the tale.

“Some men found a young dragon in the southern Dothraki plains. The dragon killed four of them, but they managed to beat him down with whips and catch him with chains. They said he was already injured when they found him and couldn’t fly away. My former master, Kraznys mo Nakloz, bought the dragon and locked him away in a pit. It was my duty to feed the dragon. Rhaegal. But yesterday they gave me a human girl to feed him. So instead, I took off his chains and set him loose. He burned Master Kraznys and some others and then I climbed on his back and he carried me out of the pyramid. We freed the Unsullied army and now the Good Masters of Astapor have fallen.” Missandei’s eyes went hard as she said it.

“You rode him?” asked Dany.

“Not the way you did. He could not fly with me, but I sat on his back as we went to get the Unsullied. He is much smaller than that one.”

Dany looked at Sycorax.

“He will grow. How did you control him?” Dany asked.

“Control him?”

“When you rode him, how did you get him to go where you wanted?”

“Does that one not go where you want?” asked Missandei, pointing to Sycorax.

“She does, but… Rhaegal never did.”

Rhaegal curled his head over Missandei’s shoulder, watching Dany carefully. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Dany saw movement behind Missandei. As she looked over, a man ran out from behind an archway at them, a curved sword raised high in his hand.

“Dracarys,” said Dany, and black and green flames engulfed the man as both Rhaegal and Sycorax breathed fire at him.

Several of the Unsullied began to march back into the plaza where Dany and Missandei stood, some with their spears pointing at men and women with fine silk clothing. 

“They are the freeborn people,” Missandei told her.

“What will you do with them?”

Missandei looked surprised for a moment, as if she hadn’t realized she would be the one to decide the fate of the freeborn. All the Unsullied were looking to her, though, and more were pouring into the plaza by the minute, thousands of them. They came to stand in formation in front of Missandei and Dany, and with them they brought more freeborn citizens and uncollared slaves. Missandei quietly watched them come.

“I don’t know,” she said, looking to Dany for advice.

Dany had very little to give. She was a queen in name only, and had never ruled anyone or made such decisions for them.

“Maybe you should address the slaves first, and deal with the freeborn later.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’m just a translator,” said Missandei.

Dany smiled at that. It was obvious this girl was so much more than that.

“What would you want to hear if you were them?” she asked.

Missandei thought about it and then straightened to her full height. She put her hand on Rhaegal’s neck, stepped forward, and then addressed the crowd in Valyrian. Her dialect was a little different, harsher, than Dany was used to, but she understood most of it.

“People of Astapor. We stand in the Plaza of Pride, where slaves have been bought and sold for hundreds of years. Today, the Plaza has no more slaves to sell. Today, Astapor has no more slaves to sell. The freeborn citizens will now share that status with every soul in the city, every former slave. Those who have lived their lives in chains now stand before me, as free men and free women. Unsullied, you may leave this city. That is your right as free men. But I ask that you stay here and defend the city of Astapor from slavers and all who would try to harm her.”

The plaza was quiet for a moment and Missandei glanced back at Dany. Then, they heard the sound of a spear, beating down on the sand. One Unsullied started the beat, but soon every Unsullied followed, stomping their spears on the ground in a growing drumbeat. The former slaves began to cheer, a deafening sound rising out of the crowd. Amidst the clamor, Dany could hear one word being repeated. 

“Mhysa! Mhysa!”

“What does that mean?” she asked Missandei.

“It is Ghiscari. It means ‘mother.’” She looked terrified as she said it. Dany could see why. It was a lot of children to have.

Dany came forward and placed her hand on Missandei’s shoulder.

***

Dany and Missandei moved into the top of one of the great step pyramids of Astapor, which had once been the home of one of the Masters. The Unsullied army took residence in the lower levels of pyramid where they could protect the Dragon Queens, as they had begun calling Dany and Missandei. It was truly a magnificent building, with balconies full of gardens, fountains, and statues. The view from one side of the pyramid looked out on the bloodstained sand of the fighting pits. On the other side, they could see the bay, with its crystal blue water, and try not to think about all the bodies on its seafloor. Sycorax and Rhaegal settled themselves on one of the upper balconies, curled next to each other, with Rhaegal’s head on Sycorax’s tail, as if they had never fought and been separated.

The Yi Ti ship that Dany had arrived on had at last been convinced to dock at the Astapor Harbor, allowing Ser Jorah to depart. Dany asked a company of Unsullied to bring him to them. Several of the freeborn approached the ship and the others still in the Harbor, carrying bags of gold, and asking to be taken to Yunkai or Meereen. Dany watched them flee the city, like some great pilgrimage back to the slave-owning way of life. 

“We should fly to Yunkai and free all the slaves there before they arrive,” said Dany with a smile.

Missandei leaned on the balcony rail. “I think we will have plenty to do here for now. Will you stay for awhile?”

“I have one more dragon to find. But I think I can stay a few more days. Who knows, maybe he’s found a rider by now, as well.”

“Will Rhaegal go with you?”

Dany’s smile fell. “No, I don’t think he will.”

They were quiet for a moment. The sun was setting behind the bay, turning the water gold as it went down. The brick of the city looked even more blood red in this light.  _ Bricks and blood built Astapor, and bricks and blood her people _ . The Masters used to say that, and certainly they had built their wealth and status on the backs of their slaves.

A girl of about ten came out onto the balcony, bringing them a flagon of wine. She had copper skin and thick black hair like the Dothraki.

“Are you from the great grass sea?” Dany asked her in Dothraki.

“Yes, Mother of Dragons. I saw you at Vaes Dothrak,” the girl replied.

“Did you? How did you come to be in Astapor?”

“Some men took me from the sacred city, me and some other Dothraki girls. They sold us here. But the gods will punish them for such a crime.”

“How long have you been here?” Missandei asked. Dany was surprised for a moment that she could speak the language, and better than Dany could, but then remembered Missandei saying she had been a translator. 

“A few months. The Master was going to feed me to the dragon, but instead this one freed him and he ate the Master instead.” She pointed to Missandei as she told this to Dany, and grinned at them both.

“What is your name?”

“This one is Jhula.”

“ _ I _ am Jhula,” said Missandei gently. The girl had only been a slave for a few months, but she must have quickly had to learn their way of speaking. There was no sense of self for slaves. But Missandei was giving it back to her. The girl repeated it back to Missandei.

Ser Jorah arrived to find the three of them drinking wine and watching the sunset over the freed city. He looked at Dany for a moment.

“It never is simple with you, is it?” he asked. Jhula brought him a cup and poured him some wine, and sat back down next to Missandei. Dany introduced him to the two and told him the tale, what he hadn’t heard yet from the Unsullied who escorted him. Jorah took a seat on Dany’s other side and leaned back in his chair.

“The Mother of Dragons and the Breaker of Chains. I’ll have to stay in both of your good graces, I think.”

Dany chuckled.

Jhula took a large gulp of wine and instantly choked and spat it out.

“That tastes like horse piss. Has it gone bad?” she asked.

Jorah nearly roared with laughter at her reaction. Dany took Jhula’s cup and drank it for her.

“You get used to it,” she said.

Missandei looked like she was hating the taste, as well, though she was doing a better job disguising the fact, taking tiny sips and then setting down her glass.

“Do you still have a family, Jhula?” Dany asked.

“My mother is in Khal Jommo’s khalasar.”

Jommo was an frequent ally of Drogo’s, and Dany remembered watching his wife eat the horse’s heart in the pit of the Dosh Khaleen.

“Would you like to go back there? Ser Jorah and I can take you when we leave the city.”

“Yes, Mother of Dragons,” said Jhula.

“And you, Missandei. Will you go home to Naath?”

“My family is dead. I have two brothers still alive, but they are here, in the Unsullied army. Somewhere. I think my place is here now.”

Astapor wasn’t a bad place, really, once you got rid of the slavery. The architecture was nice, Dany thought dryly. Sitting on the balcony, she actually felt happier than she had in a long time, certainly happier than she had in the months she had spent in Asshai. The only thing missing was a pale dragon to sit with his brother and sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reunited!


	13. The Defense

The next day, Missandei asked the Unsullied to send her the men they wanted to be their officers and the one they wanted for their commander. Twelve men came to the upper pyramid, still armored, wearing their helmets, and holding long spears.

“I would like to know your names,” said Missandei.

“This one is Red Moth.”

“This one is Green Snake.”

And on it went, a list of colors and vermin, until their commander stepped forward and introduced himself as Grey Worm. Horrible names, thought Dany. 

Missandei seemed to agree, as she said, “You may choose your own names now. The ones your mothers gave you, or ones you choose for yourselves. Cast aside your slave names.”

They thought about it for a moment. Some went back to the names they were born with: Cetherys and Taego. Others picked victorious names: Black Fist, Stalwart Shield, and Hero. 

“Grey Worm,” repeated the commander. 

“Remove your helmet,” said Missandei.

He did so. He was younger than Dany had expected, only a little over twenty. He had brown skin, a narrow face with high cheekbones, and a stern expression.

“You don’t want another name?” she asked him.

“The name I was born with was cursed. Under that name, I was taken as a slave. But Grey Worm is the name I had when I was freed. It is a lucky name. I will keep it.”

Missandei nodded. Dany thought she saw the slightest tint of pink on her cheeks.

Missandei gave them their duties, and the Unsullied left the room.

“He was quite handsome,” said Dany.

“Who was?” asked Missandei, not making eye contact with Dany.

“Commander Grey Worm.”

“I suppose he was,” said Missandei.

***

There was much to be done in Astapor after the death of the Masters. Dany stood together with Missandei, Jorah, and Grey Worm in one of the pyramid’s rooms, all looking over a map of Essos that the former resident of the pyramid had owned.

“Conquering a city is much easier than running it,” said Jorah. “In Westeros, King Robert was a fine conqueror. And a terrible king.”

“We ran this city before, with the Masters watching over our shoulders. Now, we shall run it without them,” said Missandei.

Dany had little advice to give on that matter. She was a dragon rider, a mediocre archer, a novice blood mage of sorts. She had been a beggar, a thief, and a princess. But she had never ruled before. Missandei was clever enough. She had to be to have survived as long as she did in the life she lived.

“It is likely the other cities in Slaver’s Bay will attack, or at least hire sellswords to attack. You are a great threat to them. If Astapor succeeds without slaves, other slave rebellions will happen,” said Jorah.

“They may try to attack,” said Grey Worm. “Yunkai trains bed slaves. They are not fighters. Meereen has the brutes of the fighting pits. They have no discipline. They will break easily. Sellswords may come, but they fight for money. What we fight for is more precious, so we will defeat them. The walls of Astapor will stand against attack with the Unsullied guarding them.”

Jorah leaned back, rubbing his chin.

“There are trade deals to make, to keep,” said Missandei, leaning over the map. “The farmers along the Worm River are the most important. They provide most of the food to the city. We should try to keep trade with some of the Free Cities, as well.”

“The Magisters won’t be happen to lose their supply of Unsullied,” said Dany. They widespread use of the slave soldiers throughout the nine Free Cities made them “free” in name only. Only Braavos, which had been founded by former slaves, and Pentos has outlawed slavery.

“We will have to offer them other things. The Naathi can fish and dive for oysters in the bay. The Unsullied can train soldiers. There are tradesmen and craftsmen. Astapor has plenty to offer the world,” said Missandei.

***

Ser Jorah was right about the cities of Slaver’s Bay. In less than a week, their envoys arrived and were given safe passage to Missandei’s pyramid. Dany had suggested they meet them outside the pyramid, and Missandei had agreed. Together, they watched them arrive, carried in palanquins by slaves and with burly soldiers to guard them. A little slave boy with a drum led their way through the streets, banging out a rhythm to mark their arrival. Grey Worm had arranged for the Unsullied to line the pathway to the pyramid, both to protect the envoys from the public and to show the strength of Astapor’s army. People lined up to watch the procession, and their jeers and shouts rose up through the air. Dany imagined that without the Unsullied, the envoys may have very well been torn to pieces.

The envoys approached and their slaves set down the palanquins. The first to emerge and be introduced was a Wise Master from Yunkai, a thin man named Grazdan mo Eraz. He wore a bright yellow tokar with gold fringe and had an arrogant smile with brilliantly white teeth. The second was a Great Master from Meereen, named Hizdahr zo Loraq. He was younger than Grazdan, and more handsome, with tan skin and dark red hair. He had a long face and a beard to make it seem even longer.

Dany and Missandei faced them, along with Ser Jorah, Grey Worm, and a council of advisers that had begun to form around Missandei. Most of the advisers were former slaves, though a few were sympathetic freeborn, who had been scribes, assistants, and translators to the Good Masters of Astapor. The dragons stayed on top of the pyramid, but Dany could see Grazdan’s and Hizdahr’s eyes searching for them.

“Ancient and glorious are the cities of Ghis. Together, Yunkai, Astapor, and Meereen have stood, and together they have prospered,” said Grazdan, stepping forward.

“Old Valyria was ancient and glorious. That did not stop it from falling,” said Dany.

He turned and looked her over, somewhat disdainful.

“Quite so,” said Hizdahr. “Even mighty empires can fall. But Ghis was strong in the days when the Old Valyrians were still simple shepherds, and the three cities have been strong in the days following the Doom.”

“Astapor fell quickly enough,” said Dany. “Why should Yunkai and Meereen be any different?”

“Many armies have tried and have broken themselves against our proud walls,” said Grazdan, his voice raising a little.

“They were not able to fly over your walls. We are,” said Dany, matching his tone.

Missandei had not yet spoken, but she raised a hand to Dany’s arm then, quieting her. 

Then she said, “As of yet, we have no plans to attack the great cities of Meereen or Yunkai. Many of Astapor’s former slavers have left our city for your own. We hope you will give them safe refuge, just as we will give safe refuge to every former slave who comes to us.”

“A slave refuge?” said Grazdan. He looked insulted. 

Hizdahr spoke up before Grazdan could go further.

“May we propose an alternate arrangement?” he asked. He turned back to the slaves and waved his hand. Four of them came forward, carrying two heavy trunks between them. They set them down before Missandei and opened them, revealing a treasure of gold, silver, and silks.

Hizdahr continued. “It is a most difficult task to run such a city. If the enemies outside do not destroy you, your own people shall. Such a mix of peoples: Dothraki, Lhazareen, Naathi, Summer Islander. They cannot live together peacefully without a strong hand to guide them. We know this. We have been Masters all our lives. Our families have been Masters long before us. These freed slaves will turn on you. The Unsullied will forget their training without continued discipline and they will turn on you. But, we are a generous people. We offer you both the riches of Slaver’s Bay - this here is just a start - we will give you both more wealth than a former slave and a beggar queen could ever have hoped for. You will be wealthy women, living in luxury. And all you must do is turn over ownership of the Unsullied to us and fly away with your dragons. Go to the Free Cities. Go to Westeros. This is not your home.”

Dany looked over to Missandei, whose jaw was clenched.

“You’re right,” Missandei said.

Dany raised her eyebrows.

Missandei eyes grew hard. “This is not my home. My home was an island of butterflies. My people were peaceful and kind. But I was taken here as a child and bound in chains. The slavers brought me here, and here I will remain as a free woman. The city of Astapor will stand as a free city and a refuge for former slaves.”

“We thank you for the gold. It was most kind. We have a gift for you, as well,” said Dany.

“And what is that?” snapped Grazdan.

“Oh, I was not speaking to you.” Dany stepped around the envoys to the little boy with the drum and the other kneeling slaves. “Welcome to Astapor, where all are free.” She took the dagger from her belt and cut the collar off the little boy.

The Yunkish and Meereenese guards drew their swords, but the Unsullied and Ser Jorah were faster, holding their blades at the guard’s throats.

“You promised us safe passage,” Grazdan yelled at Missandei.

“You may leave,” she replied, inclining her head.

The rest of the Unsullied lowered their spears. Grazdan moved to step forward toward Missandei, but Hizdahr stopped him, with a hand on his arm. The two turned and walked with their guards away from the pyramid and back toward their ships. Dany continued cutting the collars from the slaves.

“They’re going to be angry about that,” said Jorah, watching them go.

Dany was angry enough herself, as she sawed through the leather of one man’s collar. She didn’t reply.

Jorah sighed and turned to Missandei and Grey Worm.

“I think an attack on the city is certain.”

“Then we will prepare immediately,” said Grey Worm. He looked to Missandei for a moment, who nodded, and then went to gather his officers.

***

They kept the Harbor Gate open in the days following, waiting to close them until they saw attacking ships. In that time, many ships continued to sail through the bay. Many were travellers. Some were in want of slaves and had not yet heard the news of the Astapori Rebellion. They were soon turned away by the Unsullied. Others were there to sells their goods and wares, and didn’t care too much who ruled Astapor, just as long as they were paid. There were few runaway slaves from the other cities, and those few who did come were welcomed into the city. There was plenty of work for them to do, preparing Astapor for siege.

There was also the arrival of an old man from Westeros, asking to speak with the Dragon Queen. The drummer boy who Dany had freed had been working for her as a messenger, running from the pyramid to the harbor and back to deliver battle plans and news. Down at the docks, an Unsullied grabbed him and told him to tell the Dragon Queens about the Westerosi man. The boy ran like a gazelle through the streets, jumping around market stalls and taking shortcuts through the alleyways. He reached the pyramid and climbed up the many steps to the top.

“There is a man here to see you,” he said to Dany, panting a little from his run. Missandei gave him some water and made him drink.

“He is pale like you and speaks very funny.”

“Common tongue?” Dany asked. The boy didn’t know.

Ser Jorah went with Dany down to the Harbor Gate, where the Unsullied guards were waiting with an old man in a brown cloak. He had white hair and a white beard. Dany might have thought he looked quite grandfatherly, except she could see the concealed sword under his cloak and the lithe grace with which he moved.

“Ser Barristan?” said Jorah, stopping at the gate.

“You know this man?” Dany asked.

“Ser Barristan Selmy, a member of King Robert’s kingsguard,” said Jorah.

Ser Barristan eyed Jorah carefully. Then he spoke.

“I fought for Robert, aye, as did you. But the king is dead and his son, Joffrey, makes a mockery of the Iron Throne. He is a vain, cruel boy, and the kingdom suffers under his rule. Daenerys Targaryen, I have spent over two years searching for you, following reports and stories of dragons in the east. I served your family once, and I failed them. Allow me a chance to serve you, and I promise, I will not fail again. You are the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” He kneeled before her.

“Stand, Ser.” She turned to Jorah. “Would you trust him?”

Jorah looked Ser Barristan over. “He is known to be an honorable man and one of the best fighters the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen.”

Dany turned back to the old knight. “I cannot be the Queen of Westeros while I am in Essos. And for now, I will remain in Essos. But we have a battle coming, and all skilled fighters are most welcome. Come, I shall introduce you to the true Queen of Astapor.”

***

Soon enough the ships from Yunkai and Meereen arrived in the bay outside of Astapor, coming from the northwest, and the sellswords came by land, from the northeast, flanking the city from both sides. They brought with them siege weapons on both the ships and mounted on wagons, mostly small scorpion ballistas and catapults. The sellswords rode in on horseback and flew under banners with images of broken swords, lances, and four crows. Dany and Sycorax flew high above them as they marched, memorizing their banners, and then back to the city.

She landed on the landside wall, looking out at the dusty desert and mountains. The sellswords were not in site yet, but far in the distance, they could hear their horns. She described the banners to Grey Worm.

“The Second Sons, the Long Lances, and the Stormcrows,” he said.

“Are they good?” Dany asked.

“They are sellswords,” was Grey Worm’s only reply. He didn’t seem too worried. 

Dany looked back across the city, mostly empty now that the assault was oncoming. They had opened up the central pyramids of the town for the civilians of Astapor to wait out the battle. Jhula and the drummer boy were in there, though Jhula had badly wanted to help fight. Rhaegal and Missandei waited in the center of town with them, the last line of defense if the walls were breached. Rhaegal’s wings were weak from his time chained in the pit, and he had only been able to fly short distances before growing tired. He still needed time to heal before he could participate in such a fight. He would stay on the ground with Missandei.

Ser Jorah led the defense of the seaside wall with Ser Barristan and Stalwart Shield, while Grey Worm and Black Fist had the landside wall. Each had two thousand Unsullied to stand with them and more waiting in the city if replacements were needed. There were also bands of archers, mostly freeborn people of no great wealth. In the time of the Masters, they had been higher in status only than the slaves, and looked down upon by the Masters, wealthy merchants, and other slave owners. Many hunted the riverlands and the mountains for food. They were decent enough shots, with no great love for Yunkai or Meereen. Plenty of former slaves lined the streets, as well, armed with bricks and knives. They weren’t fighters, but they were prepared to do anything to keep their new freedom.

“I’ll see you after the battle, Grey Worm,” Dany told him.

He gave a nod of his head and put on his helmet. Dany nudged Sycorax, who jumped in the air, flying over the city to the seaside wall. She could see Ser Jorah in his full armor, watching the ships sail ever closer. Dany had counted eighty of them, all with the flag of the Ghiscari harpy flying above them. It was too many for Sycorax alone to burn each one, but they could distract and cripple them. The first catapult fired from one of the ships, flinging a flaming ball over the wall to crash into the Plaza of Punishment.

Sycorax turned upwards, climbing into the sky and toward the bright sun. They turned in the air, seeing the ships like tiny toys beneath them. They dove, with Sycorax folding her wings tight against her body to increase their speed. They aimed just in front of the ship that had fired the projectile. There, Sycorax, pulled up and blasted the catapult and the men who manned it with fire, then curved away, setting the sails of two more ships alight. There were screams behind her as Dany urged Sycorax back up and out of range. Dany heard a hiss as a scorpion bolt arched underneath Sycorax, unable to reach them. They went high again, and then turned back down. They flew over, strafing the ships with fire and then curved to the right, flying across the open water. More scorpion bolts were fired and plunged into the water of the bay. Sycorax flew toward the ships in the front of the armada and knocked out two more catapults. One ship they past had longbowmen who fired a volley of arrows as they passed. Sycorax turned her body, so her belly faced them and her wings tilted behind her, and the arrows clinked harmlessly off her scales. She circled around and burnt their deck, before Dany pulled her up high again.

There was a horn in the distance. The sellswords had arrived.

Dany and Sycorax turned away from the sea, with a dozen ships burning behind them. As they flew over the city, more burning projectiles hit, blowing up bricks, sand, and sometimes people. Dany felt her rage growing. She saw a few of the archers on the landside wall fire their arrows at the sellswords, but they were standing out of range, letting their trebuchets and catapults do the work. Grey Worm called for a halt for all the archers.

Sycorax flew around the southern flank of the sellswords. They had four scorpions on that side, and they used them to follow the dragon’s movements. Sycorax swooped closer, and they loosed the four bolts, but she curved the other way and the bolts missed. The scorpion took time to reload, so Dany steered Sycorax down, and they burned the weapons before the men could even grab the next set of bolts.

They did the same for the northern flank, with similar success, but the rear of the company seemed a bit wiser. They loosed one or two bolts at a time, reloading while the others trained on the dragon. 

Dany flew up over the mounted ranks, toward the center, and plunged down, burning a strip of the riders. The horses screamed and most of them stampeded away from the fire. Sycorax roared and chased half of them back toward the scorpions and trebuchets in the rear flank. With a stampeding herd of frantic horses running around them, the men around the scorpions were distracted and Sycorax was able to burn the last of the siege weapons on land.

Most of the sellswords were able to gain control of their horses and began to fire arrows at Dany and Sycorax. Most bounced harmlessly of the dragon’s scales, but one tore through the thin membrane of her wing. The hole was small and Sycorax could still fly, but she shrieked when it hit. Dany turned her so that they were behind the sellswords and Sycorax flew at them, breathing fire and driving the horses toward the walls of Astapor.

Several of the sellsword riders were hit by arrows as the charged, some by spears, but many were impaled on the sharp spikes that lined the base of the walls. Between the dragon and armed walls the sellswords were hammered with fire, spears, arrows, and bricks. Dany pulled up and the sellswords still alive turned their horses and ran from the city.

Only the sea battle remained. Two ships had managed to land on shore and were fighting their way up the beach as arrows and spears reigned down upon them. They wouldn’t last long from the look of it. Sycorax flew low and fast across the water and burnt the sails of the ships on the left wing of the armada. She and Dany flew up and performed two more dives, destroying ships. Dany was keeping count of the burning ships and they were up to twenty. 

The ships began to lower their harpy flags and turn themselves around, having lost a fourth of their fleet. Sycorax turned back to the beach and made quick work of the remaining soldiers there.

A cheer came up from the Unsullied and Dany landed Sycorax atop the Harbor Gate, next to the harpy statue.

“Not much of a fight,” said Stalwart Shield. He sounded a little disappointed.

Dany looked back on the city. Some of the step pyramids had chunks missing from their sides where the catapult projectiles had hit. The Plaza of Punishment had become a ruin of broken bricks and blast marks. For the most part, though, the city remained in tact.

Ser Barristan and Hero began to lead the Unsullied to gather the wounded. Dany climbed down from Sycorax and onto the wall next to Jorah.

“Did you even use your sword once?” she asked.

“They never came close enough. I did some pointing, told the archers when to fire.”

She smiled at him. 

“You and Sycorax were...quite impressive,” he said.

“Impressive?”

He turned toward her. “Dragons are the most powerful weapons in the world. You could reclaim the Iron Throne with them. In a few years, when they’re even bigger, you could do it easily.”

“The Iron Throne,” Dany said. Since she left Pentos, Dany had done little more than survive, try to keep her dragons alive, and keep them from hurting people. Viserys had wanted so badly to sit on that throne, the throne of her father and his father before him.

“It is your birthright,” said Jorah.

Dany looked up at Sycorax, still sitting on the Harbor Gate.

“She is a better throne than any iron chair,” said Dany.


	14. The Great Grass Sea

After the battle, Dany met Missandei on the streets in front of one of the pyramids, with a crowd of children around her. Rhaegal was curled on the first step of the pyramid, looking down on them. He seemed disappointed to have missed flying with Sycorax. Missandei told Dany that every time Sycorax flew over, he would jump in the air and flap his wings until Missandei calmed him.

“Soon he’ll be strong enough to fly with you on his back,” said Dany.

Missandei looked up at him “What is it like?” 

“Terrifying. It feels like you could fall off at any moment, but you just hold on tight to the spines and pray to whatever god will listen. And then it becomes incredible.”

Missandei watched the sky for a moment, smiling a little.

“I don’t think they will come back any time soon,” said Dany. Her mind was still on the battle.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. We’ve embarrassed them, and I don’t think they or their trade can afford to be embarrassed by a bunch of freed slaves.”

“Would any sellsword company be willing to fight for them after this?” It had been a crushing defeat after all.

“Yunkai is richer than Astapor, and Meereen the richest of them all. They could build their pyramids out of solid gold if they wished. But instead they will use it to buy powerful allies. No, for now, we should send a peace agreement to the slave cities. They will not attack us or retaliate in any way. We will not burn their cities. And we will continue or trade of goods and food with them.”

“A peace agreement? They do not deserve peace,” Dany said, whirling to face Missandei.

“It is not about what they deserve. It is about what they will do.” Missandei said it through gritted teeth, as if fighting to keep her patience. 

Dany frowned. “What can they do?”

“When I was ten, there was a slave revolt in the city. We outnumbered them over two to one. Some of the younger Unsullied rebelled, as well. But the rebels were all defeated and slaughtered. The Masters didn’t just kill those who fought against them, though. They pulled out all the slave children, everyone under fifteen. And they counted us off, ‘one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.’ And every child who got ‘ten’ was hanged. I was number three. We are safe here, but there are two hundred thousand in Yunkai who are not. I do not even know the number in Meereen. It is for them that we must show restraint. Until the time is right to strike. We need strong allies.”

Dany was quiet. She felt a bit sick. She had had a bad childhood herself, but nothing quite like that.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” she said.

“We should court our allies, build our exports, and- why are you smiling at me?”

Dany laughed at that. “When I first arrived, you were terrified of speaking in front of such a large crowd, leading them. But you have taken well to it. You’ll make a good queen.”

Missandei looked a little confused, as if she hadn’t quite considered it.

“I followed Kraznys around as he and the other Masters ran the city. I suppose I did learn something from him. I also learned how not to be a good ruler from him.”

Jhula came out of the pyramid, then, and sat by them.

“Ready to go home, Jhula?” Dany asked.

The girl nodded. Dany looked at her for a long moment.

“I may have an idea for allies for Astapor. If I can bring you forty thousand warriors, do you think we could free the whole bay?” Dany said.

Missandei raised her eyebrows, and then frowned.

“Let’s discuss it with Grey Worm. Can you hold off your leave until tomorrow?”

Dany nodded. She had meant to stay for just a few days in Astapor, but with the rediscovery of Rhaegal, her friendship with Missandei, and the battle with the slave cities, the days had stretched into weeks. But there was a young Dothraki girl in need of her home, so it was almost time to leave. They could wait one more day, but then they would ride for the Dothraki Sea again.

***

Saying goodbye to Astapor was much harder than it had been to do so to Asshai. It was a place of wretched history but promising future. Dany hugged Missandei goodbye and clasped hands with Grey Worm and Ser Barristan. The old knight had been offered a position on Missandei’s council, because of his work before and after the battle. He had been reluctant at first, but Dany had urged him to take it. He would do more good in Astapor than at Dany’s side. Jorah was impossibly loyal, however, and once again had the mules saddled and ready for the three of them to leave.

They walked out into the fields just below the city walls, still scorched and bloodstained from the battle. The shadow of Sycorax passed over them as they rode north, away from the Worm River. Her wing was healing and the hole made by the arrow had become only a pinprick in the membrane. Dany rode the mule, though, to give Sycorax a little more time to heal. Rhaegal cried out as they left, and Sycorax had screamed back to him. The sounds made Dany’s heart clench.

_ It won’t be long _ , she thought. They’d be back in Astapor soon enough. Meereen and Yunkai still had slaves. Dany just needed to find Viserion, take Jhula back to her mother, and with any luck, find some powerful allies for Astapor somewhere in the great grass sea.

*** 

They passed by Yunkai first on the road north. Dany rode Sycorax, her wing fully healed by then, and scouted for any mercenaries or archers who might strike them. That’s not what she saw, however. The walls were lined with soldiers and weapons of defense, but they were also guarded by corpses. The Yunkish had crucified slaves and spaced them over the wall like scarecrows. Whether it was in response to the Battle of Astapor, or simply how their walls always looked, Dany didn’t know. She hoped Jorah was keeping Jhula from seeing.

Every instinct in Dany screamed to burn the walls of the city, but she kept Sycorax high in the air. Jorah and Jhula were too vulnerable, and she had no army with her. Yunkai would have to wait.

Find Viserion, take Jhula home, and speak with the khals. That was the mission.

She flew over Yunkai, and they continued on to Meereen. It was larger than Yunkai and Astapor combined, built of multicolored brick. The great pyramid in the center was twice as tall as the highest in Astapor and topped with a gleaming bronze harpy. From a distance, it almost looked magnificent. They continued moving and reached the River Skahazadhan. There Dany remounted the mule as they climbed through the Khyzai Pass. The road was rocky, but the mules were sure footed through the red slopes of the Sandstone Mountains, as they passed through them and into Lhazar. 

Dany bought sheep for Sycorax to eat from the Lhazarene in the days they spent crossing the lands. When they reached the Dothraki Sea, though, the dragon would have to go back to hunting deer and lions. She didn’t seem to mind. She loved the plains. Jhula seemed happier, too, as each day brought them closer to Vaes Dothrak.

Finally, after weeks of travel, they saw the Mother of Mountains come into view.

***

Vaes Dothrak was emptier than it had been during the annual meeting of the khals, when Dany had last seen the city. The markets were still bustling with merchants and buyers from all over Essos, but only one or two khalasars were present, camping outside on the plains. As they rode along the godsway, Jhula stood up in her stirrups, squinting hard as she looked for familiar faces.

“I don’t think Khal Jommo is here,” she said.

“The Dosh Khaleen will know the direction they rode. We’ll find them soon enough,” said Jorah.

They approached the step pyramid of the Dosh Khaleen, and found many of the crones standing outside waiting for them.

“Your dragon has grown,” said one, a middle-aged woman with a sharp nose.

“And she grows more every week,” said Dany. 

“The pale one misses her.”

Dany felt a bloom of hope. “The pale one?”

“The pale dragon. He flew home months ago, without you, back to the khalasar.”

“Drogo’s khalasar?”

“Of course.”

The dragons had always seemed happiest on the plains, with the space to fly free and more game than they could ever eat. Viserion had retreated to the place where he had once felt safe.

“Where is Khal Drogo?” asked Jorah.

The crones told them they had gone east in the direction of Qohor. They said Jommo had gone south, in the direction of the Red Waste.

“I can wait here for them,” said Jhula.

“No, I promised to take you home, and I intend to keep that promise. You know, I think Sycorax may be large enough to carry the two of us now.”

Jhula eyes went comically wide. “I get to ride the dragon with you?”

“We can try it. Jorah, will you wait here? I’ll fly back and we can ride to Drogo’s khalasar.”

“Of course,” he said.

Dany whistled and Sycorax landed, shaking the ground a little in front of the crones. Dany climbed on and sat in her usual position at the base of the dragon’s neck. Jhula scurried up behind her and Sycorax whipped her head around, as if she hadn’t been expecting a second rider.

“Be calm,” said Dany in Valyrian, stroking the dragon. Sycorax ruffled her wings a little, but accepted Jhula on her back.

“What do I hold on to?” Jhula asked.

“The spines on her back. Or me. Whatever you can, really.”

The girl wrapped her arms around Dany.

“Soves,” Dany said, and Sycorax leapt into the air.

***

Jommo’s khalasar was not quite as large as Drogo’s, but it was still easy enough to spot from so high in the air. They landed at the front of the column, where Jommo rode alongside his wife and their new son. The boy was healthy and had marvelously fat cheeks that both parents seemed to delight in. Jommo welcomed Dany to his khalasar and thanked her for the return of Jhula.

Jhula slid off of Sycorax and looked at the rest of the khalasar, again searching their faces. They heard the sound of rapid hoofbeats and saw a woman racing her horse toward them.

“Mai!” shouted Jhula.  _ Mother _ . She ran forward. The woman jumped off her horse and wrapped her arms around Jhula with tears were streaming down her face. She looked up at Dany, who nudged Sycorax to leap up and fly away.

***

Dany returned to Vaes Dothrak and she and Jorah began their ride east to Drogo’s khalasar. Jorah had swapped out their mules for horses, which were faster across the plains. Dany’s was a dust colored mare with a black mane and tail and a black stripe running down her spine. She wasn’t quite as fast or as well-bred as the silver horse, but she was alright.

From what the crone’s said, Drogo’s khalasar was long ahead of them, and even riding light and fast, Jorah estimated it would take weeks to reach them. Every night Sycorax seemed to grow more impatient, and she would move restlessly around their campfire, swivelling her head so that she was always looking to the east. Dany thought she must smell Viserion, or sense him in some other way. Dany dreamed often of her dragons, seeing them as they had been when they were young and how they could be when they were grown. Sometimes she had nightmares where she saw them dying, and she woke up crying, only to wake Jorah, as well. 

One night, she had such a nightmare and screamed herself awake. She pulled her knees up to her chest and tucked her face into them. Jorah came to sit beside her and after a moment put an arm around her shoulder. Sycorax looked away from the east and lowered her head next to them.

“May I tell you something?” he asked, after she had mostly cried herself out. She nodded, but kept her face hidden on her knees.

“When I was a very young man, only a few years older than you are now, my father arranged for me to married to girl named Alysanne Glover, though everyone just called her ‘Ann.’ I didn’t want to get married at the time, and especially not to a girl I had never met before. But I had a duty to my father and so I went through with the wedding. The day we met was the day we married. She walked into the room with her father, and it was like I couldn’t breathe. I made a right fool of myself then. I stumbled over the vows, I nearly dropped the cloak as I put it on her shoulders. But from that first moment and every moment after, I loved her. We tried to have children, but Ann had one difficult pregnancy after the next. Finally she was able to bring one child into this world, a little girl. She was small and sickly. She lived for only two months, and her mother soon followed. Sometimes...when I look at you, I see just a possibility of what my daughter could have become. I don’t imagine raising a child is ever easy, but especially not when they are as powerful as your children. There are so many who would covet that power. I can’t promise that they will be safe forever, but I think you have given them the best shot at life that they could have.”

Dany wasn’t certain that was true. After all, she had allowed one dragon to fall captive to a slaver and another she had chased away with dark magic, but she knew Jorah was only trying to comfort her, and so she pretended to be comforted.

“Did you name her?” she asked. “Your daughter.”

“Yes, we called her Saera.”

Dany couldn’t imagine the pain of losing a child, and she didn’t want to.

They didn’t speak much of their conversation the next day. Instead, Jorah told her stories of a tourney he had attended at Lannisport, where he had beaten Jaime Lannister himself. Sycorax flew in tight circles above them, as if impatient to reach the khalasar.

“Perhaps you should fly up ahead with her,” said Jorah.

“I’m not leaving you alone on the plains,” said Dany. She had survived on her own in the great grass sea, but she had had three dragons to protect her at the time. Jorah only had a sword.

It would be easier when Sycorax grew bigger and could carry them both, but for now, they would both stay on horseback.

They travelled for nearly three weeks toward the east, but then, at last, Sycorax spotted the khalasar. She roared and flew off toward the horizon, and then circled back and landed next to Dany, nudging at Dany and her horse.

“Go on, I’ll catch up,” said Jorah.

This time, Dany didn’t argue. She handed over the horse’s reins and climbed onto Sycorax.

Up in the sky, she could see the khalasar stretching out in the distance, and then she saw a shape rise up into the air, like a pale shadow. Viserion flew up and sailed over to them. He had grown so much since Asshai, not quite so big as Sycorax, but much larger than Rhaegal. He bellowed at them and swooped under Sycorax, before turning around to fly next to them. Dany wanted to reach out and touch him, but the dragons couldn’t get that close to each other in flight.

Riders galloped their horses beneath them, and Dany had Sycorax dive down and fly low over the khalasar. Viserion pulled ahead of them and landed next to a familiar tent. Irri waited outside, sitting on her black horse, but she and Dany both jumped off their respective mounts when they saw each other. Dany had grown a little taller than her in their time apart and as they hugged, she buried her face in Irri’s hair.

“You’ve been gone for so long,” said Irri, clinging tight to her.

“I’m sorry,” said Dany softly.

There was a huff from behind them, and Dany turned to see Viserion watching them. She quickly went over to pet the dragon.

“I’m sorry,” she said to him as well.

“What happened to you?” asked Irri, she looked at Dany’s new clothes and her shadowbinder tattoos from Asshai. “We were so worried when Viserion flew back without you.”

Dany was about to begin, when Rakharo and Jhiqui rode up, and soon after Jhogo and Aggo joined them. They had such a whirlwind of news to share with her that Dany only got one or two words in. Her story would have to wait until later. She was smiling, though, happy to be back with them all. 

Jhiqui barely took a breath as she told Dany about how the khalasar was attacked by one of Khal Moro’s former kos, who had become a khal in his own right. Drogo and his men had defeated them, but Drogo had been injured in the fight.

“Is he alright?” asked Dany, growing worried.

“Yes, earlier we met a woman travelling alone on the plains. She was Dothraki, but she said she had studied healing in the far east. She healed his wound, and has been riding with the khalasar ever since. She’s even going to be the new khaleesi.”

“Drogo’s getting married?” asked Dany.

“Yes, at last. It is good that you are here in time for the wedding. But guess who the woman is?”

“Do I know her?” asked Dany, looking to Irri with confusion.

“She is Laeti, the woman I told you about, who climbed the Mother of Mountains,” said Irri.

Dany remembered the story. Back then, she had wanted to meet the woman who climbed forbidden mountains, but now she wanted to even more.

“We didn’t think you would be gone so long,” said Rakharo. “Irri thought you were dead when the dragon came back to us, but I told her it couldn’t be so. She cried for a day and a night, though.”

Irri blushed a little, and Dany took her hand. She told them a very short version of her time in Asshai and Astapor.

“Come, we should see the khal,” said Irri.

Dany rode behind Irri on her horse, though they didn’t get far before they found that Drogo was already coming to meet them. He rode his tall red stallion, and looked much the same as Dany remembered. His black hair was still uncut, and hung oiled and braided all the way down to his waist. He had a new scar across his chest, but that seemed to be the only sign that he had had such a major battle with the other khalasar. Behind him rode Cohollo, Haggo, and a new bloodrider that Dany didn’t recognize. It was the woman beside him that most interested Dany, however. She was as tall as Jhiqui, though more powerfully built. She had an aquiline nose, black eyes, and a slightly mischievous smile on her lips. She rode a beautiful palomino stallion, and Dany liked her almost instantly.

“Mother of Dragons, you have returned to us at last,” said Khal Drogo in Dothraki.

“It is good to see you, my friend. I hear congratulations are in order,” she said.

“Yes, this khalasar has been without a khaleesi for too long. This is Laeti, daughter of Lhago. And this is Daenerys of House Targaryen.”

“Irri has told me stories about you and I have wanted to meet you ever since. The khalasar is lucky to have you,” said Dany.

Laeti bowed her head.

“I’m not sure I can live up to such stories. But thank you. I have wanted to meet the Mother of Dragons for some time now, as well.”

“Your son had been keeping us busy,” said Drogo.

Dany was certain of that. Viserion had never been as bold as Rhaegal, but he could be moody and difficult.

“He doesn’t like the men very much, won’t let any of them other than your guards near him. The women and children he minds less, but really Irri is the only one who can get close,” said Laeti.

“Did you find the green one?” asked Jhogo.

“Yes, he is in Astapor with a new friend of mine.” 

“And Jorah the Andal?” asked Irri.

“He is riding here now. We flew on ahead of him.”

“I will send some men out to him,” said Drogo.

Dany could see on their faces that they wanted more details about where she had been and why Viserion had separated from her, but she wasn’t quite ready to tell all of them just yet. The memories of Stygai and the guilt of trying to bend the dragons to her will with blood magic still weighed on her. And the Dothraki did not trust blood magic in any circumstance. Instead, Dany asked them about the wedding and what it would be like. Laeti told her a few things, but it was Jhiqui of course, who gave Dany a minute by minute prediction of what the wedding would be like.

Dany smiled and leaned her chin on Irri’s shoulder, as they listened to Jhiqui.


	15. The Wedding

With all the flurry of activity and excitement for the upcoming wedding, Irri and Dany didn’t have much of a chance to speak until late that night. Dany had given the others a very brief and somewhat false version of everything that had happened to her, but with Irri, she told the entire tale. They were alone together, as Jhiqui was now staying in Laeti’s tent.

Dany told her about Asshai and how she had delved into blood magic and gone too far with it. The Dothraki distrusted maegis, but Irri didn’t judge her for it. Then she told of her trip up the river and the confusing horrors of Stygai, leading to her infection with the bloodwyrms. Irri was rightfully horrified by the story and Dany had to reassure her that all the wyrms were gone and she was safe. Dany and Nhehrai had a bit of a complicated relationship, but the shadowbinder had done good work saving her life. Then there was their trip to Astapor where they had met the dragonrider Missandei, who freed the slaves and created a new future for Slaver’s Bay.

“You have had many adventures,” said Irri.

“I could have done without some of them. I carried this with me the whole time.” She pulled out the little iron horse from under her shirt.

Irri smiled and gave her a look that Dany didn’t quite understand.

“I like your tattoo.” Irri said after a pause. She reached up and traced the markings with her fingertips. Dany shivered, though it was hot in the tent. 

“Are you going to stay with the khalasar now?” Irri asked after a moment.

There was a part of Dany that so badly wanted to, wanted to forget the rest of the world, forget the dead she had seen in Stygai, and live out the rest of her life, riding across the plains. But there were things she had to do. She was the Mother of Dragons, and though no one had explicitly told her, she felt a weight on her shoulders to fulfill that role in some way.

“For awhile,” she said.

Irri looked very sad at that, but she said nothing.

***

Illyrio Mopatis had told Dany that Dothraki weddings were fearsome affairs, considered to be boring unless several people were murdered. As it turned out, Illyrio was full of horseshit. The Dothraki were fearsome warriors no doubt, but there was a strong sense of loyalty within the khalasar. Men of the same khalasar might fight each other with fists or even whips, but they rarely came to blows with arakhs. And even fist fights were considered abysmal behavior to show at a wedding.

Despite the lack of deaths, it was far from a boring ceremony. It began with a great feast. The khalasar had erected a huge silk tent, painted with images of running wild horses. It was larger than any of the sleeping tents and used only for special occasions, as it took the better part of a day to set up. Nearly a hundred and fifty people could fit inside it, all seated at long tables. Dany sat between Irri and Jorah at the khal’s table, where they had a feast of roasted venison, partridges covered in plum sauce, pickled fish, and jars of preserved peaches, lemons, and pomegranates. There were also casks sweet wines, dry wines, bitter wines, ales, honeyed mead, and fermented mare’s milk. 

The servants had hung torches throughout the tent and carried burners of perfumes. The heavy scent mixed with the glasses of wine Dany drank and made her head feel quite warm and a little dizzy. As they ate, Haggo told a story of his very first battle, when he had leapt from his horse and then realized that he hadn’t fastened his belt properly, and had his breeches fall to his ankles right as a man challenged him with an arakh. The man had laughed so hard that he hadn’t even bothered to kill Haggo.

“So your life was saved by a loose belt,” said Ser Jorah, raising his glass a little.

“And an odd looking cock,” said Haggo, which made the others at the table laugh even harder.

After stuffing themselves full of food and drink for a good three hours, they all staggered outside to watch the performances with the rest of the khalasar. Dany leaned heavily on Irri as they found a seat in the grass to watch it all. There were dancers and contortionsionists, fire mages, jugglers, and singers, some Dothraki, and others from around the rest of Essos. One singer was a Westerosi woman with long red hair, who sang a song so beautiful and sad that Dany burst into tears, though later she blamed the emotional outburst on the wine. The singer was followed by a short and silly play, performed by a masked acting troupe, to bring everyone’s spirit back up.

It was moving past midday, which meant it was time for the giving of gifts from the Dothraki. Laeti and Drogo sat side by side, much as Dany and Drogo had done in Pentos, as the kos and many other members of the khalasar presented the treasures to their khal and new khaleesi. Dany and Jorah had little notice of the wedding and had nothing much to give, though Dany had an idea for a wedding gift in mind. It would have to wait a few days, though.

Finally, Drogo stood and kneeled before Laeti, presenting her with a copper necklace inlaid with black stones.

“Laeti already had a fine horse, so he is giving her this necklace. It was his mother’s before she died. I helped him pick it out,” said Irri, looking proud.

“You chose well,” whispered Dany.

Drogo put the necklace on Laeti and they both stood. The sun was getting low in the sky, which meant the ceremony was coming to an end. Cohollo and Haggo left for a minute and then returned with the red and palomino stallions, presenting each to their owner. Laeti and Drogo mounted the horses and looked at each other. Laeti smiled her mischievous smile and urged her horse to gallop away, and then Drogo and his stallion ran after her, both racing away toward the west.

The khalasar cheered, bands began to play, and more drinks were passed around as they all drank to their khal’s health and happy marriage.

Dany could barely walk by the time she and Irri left the party. The world was spinning around her and her stomach felt a bit queasy, but still she found herself giggling and giddy. She’d had wine before, but she had never spent an entire day and most of a night drinking it. She may have to go vomit soon, but for some reason, she didn’t want to do it in front of Irri. They stumbled into the tent and Dany fell face first onto the bed. Irri had matched Dany drink for drink, but she seemed a little better at tolerating the alcohol. She got into the bed beside Dany and Dany pulled her close.

***

Dany awoke early the next morning and ran outside to heave out the contents of her stomach into a ditch. Irri came out, as well, and sat beside Dany, braiding her hair out of her face and rubbing her back. 

“Do you not feel as wretched as I do?” she asked.

“You need to drink some water.” Irri said. She started to laugh and Dany looked up at her, surprised.

“The great Mother of Dragons,” Irri said, practically cackling. 

Dany was offended for a moment, but then she began to laugh, too, which did nothing to help her stomach.

“Come, let’s walk to the stream,” said Irri, pulling Dany to her feet.

The rest of the khalasar seemed in much the same state as Dany. Most were still asleep, and many had not made it back to their tents. They lay out in the grass amongst the horses and dogs, beside the campfires and the tables of food. A few were awake, and flinching away from the bright light of the rising sun. Everyone moved gingerly throughout the encampment.

Irri led Dany over to a cool stream, where she could drink, wash her mouth out, and splash water on her face. It was growing hotter and there was little shade to be found, so the two of them ended up lying in the shallow water as the sun continued to rise. They watched Sycorax and Viserion making lazy circles in the clear sky above them.

The creek was too small to swim in, but it was cool and refreshing and they spent most of the morning lying in it.

The children of the khalasar began to awake and, having not gotten so drunk the night before, they began to scream and play their games. Dany would have found it cute if her head hadn’t been throbbing so. She and Irri retreated to the feast tent, hoping it would offer them some leftover food, or at least some shade. There they found Jorah who looked even more ragged than Dany.

“Aggo talked me into a friendly drinking contest,” he said, rubbing his face. “That man must have a hollow leg, because I swear he didn’t get one spot drunker. That, or the servants were giving him water while I drank mead.”

Dany patted him on the shoulder.

Aggo, Rakharo, Jhogo, and Jhiqui joined them soon enough, and in truth Aggo didn’t look affected at all by the previous day’s drinking. Jhogo was a little unsteady on his feet, but he had a big grin on his face.

“He kissed a girl last night, and hasn’t stopped talking about her for one moment,” Rakharo said, rolling his eyes a little.

“Have you gotten yourself a girl?” Dany asked Rakharo, but he shook his head. She thought she saw Jhiqui go a bit pink as he said it. Rakharo had been lean when they first met, but he had grown since she’d left, not in height, but in muscle. He was beginning to look a bit like Drogo actually, and according to Irri, the women of the khalasar had taken notice.

“Jhiqui better hurry and get him, before someone else does,” whispered Irri.

“Is Jhiqui fond of Rakharo?” Dany asked, and Irri gave her a look. Jhiqui was so fond of sharing other people’s gossip but apparently kept her own feelings to herself. Irri knew Jhiqui better than anyone, though.

“When do you think our khal and khaleesi will return?” asked Rakharo.

“If they haven’t worn out yet, I imagine they’ll be awhile yet,” said Aggo with a chuckle.

Dany laughed along with him, but she didn’t fully understand the joke. It sounded like something Ameto and Tae would say to each other on Braavos.

***

Drogo and Laeti did eventually return and the khalasar moved on across the plains. They rode vaguely to the east, though Irri said there was no set destination in mind. Drogo might got to visit some of the Free Cities, and eventually he would need to curve back around to Vaes Dothrak, so the Dosh Khaleen could bless the marriage and any pregnancies Laeti would have.

Rakharo brought the silver mare to Dany from Drogo’s herd, so Dany gave the dust-colored horse to Aggo, as his horse was growing old and slow. It was good to ride the silver again, even if she wasn’t quite as exciting as riding a dragon. She still galloped like the wind over the steppes.

One evening, Irri was helping Laeti groom her horses, and Dany went to sit by Jhiqui.

“What happened to Qotho?” Dany asked quietly. She hadn’t seen any trace of the man since she had returned, not that she minded.

Jhiqui lowered her voice, as well. “We don’t speak of Qotho. He brought shame to the khal and so Brego replaced him.”

“Was he banished?”

Jhiqui was quiet for a moment. “Banished to the Night Lands.”

Dany smiled. She looked up to watch Irri brushing out the tail and checking the feet of Laeti’s palomino horse. Irri was always so gentle with the horses. Dany imagined that was why Viserion had bonded so closely with Irri. Her calm demeanor always helped with his somewhat skittish nature.

The khalasar soon passed into the fields of red flowers and at last Dany got to see the western plains all in bloom. It was a stunning sea of crimson flowers, making the air smell thick with pollen. Dany picked a few of the flowers and wove them into the silver horse’s mane.

Aggo and Dany soon resumed their archery lessons, and he was impressed by the progress she had made with Kojja Mo. He decided it was time for her to learn mounted archery. He set up a target whenever the khalasar stopped for the night, and had her canter her horse and try to shoot her bow. She was abysmal at it, and missed every shot the first day. The next day, he let her walk the horse past the target, saying they should have started slower. Then, she was able to make a few of her shots.

“You are too tense,” he would often say.

Dany wanted to mutter back that he should try shooting a bow from horse, but of course, Aggo was brilliant at doing just that.

One day, Dany caught up with Khal Drogo at the head of the khalasar.

“I haven’t given you a wedding present yet,” said Dany.

He smiled at her. “I need no present from you, Mother of Dragons.”

“Still, I have something in mind. I think I can make you very rich.”

He raised his eyebrows a little and said, “I am very rich.”

There was absolutely no denying that, Dany thought.

“The Free Cities pay us every year not to attack them,” he continued.

“Richer, then. I can make your entire khalasar very rich.”

That got his attention, or at least his curiosity.

“I met a woman on my travels, a former slave who is now the Queen of Astapor. Rhaegal, my green dragon, is with her and she is his rider. With him, she was able to kill all the slave masters and free every slave in the city. I had been so worried about Rhaegal, about what he would do when he flew away. I used to have these horrible ideas in my head of him burning people alive and eating them. Though I loved my three dragons, a part of me feared what they might become. But that’s not what happened. Rhaegal found a rider and with her, he had improved the lives of thousands of slaves. For the first time, I saw what could be done with my dragons. The good that could be done with them.”

Drogo looked a little confused now as he watched her speak, as if he couldn’t see the connection between freed slaves in a far away city and the tremendous wealth she was promising him.

“I want to make slavery the most unprofitable business in Essos, and I would like you to help me.”

Drogo pulled his horse to a stop. “What do you mean by this?” he asked.

She told him her plan. He looked skeptical at first, but slowly as she spoke, he began to get that same determined look on his face that he had when he looked at the dragons.

“The Sandstone Mountains are not the easiest to pass,” he said.

“We’ll have to go through Lhazar and take the Khyzai Pass.”

The Lhazareen and the Dothraki were not allies in any sense of the word. The Lhazareen were shepherds and farmers, and the Dothraki khalasars often raided them for food and goods. Drogo scoffed when Dany suggested they pay the shepherds for use of their roads.

“What do the shepherds of Lhazareen have to offer?” asked Dany. “Sheep and wool and rugs made out of wool. I am promising you more gold than the khalasar can carry. We can afford to give a little away to go unbothered on the shepherds’ roads.”

Drogo looked like he wanted to argue, but eventually she convinced him to agree.

As they were speaking, Laeti had been farther back in the column, tending to a young girl who had broken her arm falling from a horse. She caught up with them then and asked what they were talking about.

“I hope you don’t mind a change in direction,” Drogo said.

“Where are we going?” asked Laeti.

“South, to Slaver’s Bay.”

***

One evening, after they had set up their tent and watered their horses, Dany sat by the campfire with Irri, watching the dragons sleep next to them. Viserion was curled up next his big sister with his head right next to her own. Dany was telling Irri about the Westerosi civil war, called the Dance of the Dragons, when her Targaryen ancestors had lost all their dragons. Irri was fascinated by the story, leaning intently forward on her arms. Dany reached the part where Queen Rhaenyra and her son Prince Jacaerys called for the bastard children of Targaryen blood to try and bond with the wild dragons of Dragonstone.

“The prince wanted more dragons on their side of the war, so he offered immense prizes to anyone who could tame the wild dragons. There were three of them at the time. The oldest and meanest was called the Cannibal, because he liked to eat the hatchlings and eggs of other dragons. Many tried to tame him, and they all died. The Cannibal never wanted to be ridden, so he burnt any person who came too close. The second was called Grey Ghost. He was always my favorite. The books say he was so shy that people would only glimpse him once or twice a year. He was never ridden either, because he always hid from anyone who tried to find him. The last was Sheepstealer. He was said to be an ugly brown dragon. A few tried and failed to ride him, but a girl named Nettles started to bring him sheep. Everyday she would feed him, and slowly he began to bond with her, until at last, he let her ride him.”

“Was she a Targaryen bastard?” Irri asked.

“I think so. She must have been.”

“Only a Targaryen may ride a dragon?”

Dany frowned. That’s what she had always been told. 

“You Westerosi are so obsessed with your names,” Irri said.

“I’m not sure I really am Westerosi, but you are right about that. Viserys took such pride in our family name. The name of kings, he called it.”

Dany watched Viserion, looking pale as a ghost in the firelight.

“You should try it,” Dany said.

Irri followed her gaze. “Try what?” she asked.

“You should try to ride Viserion.”

Irri’s eyes widened. “You have just told me a story about dragons burning people alive for trying to ride them.”

“But those were wild dragons and the people were strangers. Viserion loves you. The worst he will do is shake you off.”

Irri frowned at Dany, but she got up from the beside the fire. She walked over to Viserion who opened his eyes and raised his head. Dany followed her over and pet Viserion’s nose, asking him to stay still in Valyrian. Irri pet his shoulder, took a few deep breaths, and climbed up onto his back. Viserion turned his head around to look at her and sniff her leg. Then he lay his head back down on the ground and closed his eyes.

“What’s happening?” asked Irri.

“Well, he isn’t throwing you off,” said Dany. 

They waited for a moment to see if Viserion would react any more.

“This has to be the least exciting dragon ride in history,” Irri said. She patted Viserion on the back and climbed down from him. She was grinning, though. 

“We could try again in the morning,” Dany suggested.

“If it’s anything like riding a horse, I suppose I could do it,” she said.

Dany laughed. It was absolutely nothing like riding a horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a few changes to the Dothraki wedding customs. I thought their portrayal was a bit over the top (and quite racist), showing them as these savage barbarians who murder each other all the time. So Laeti and Drogo's wedding is a bit different from the Dany/Drogo wedding in the books/show.  
> Also I got the name Brego from one of the horses in Lord of the Rings.


	16. Dragonriders

The next morning Irri awoke before Dany and watched her for a moment. Her pale hair was spread loose and messy over the pillow, and Irri reached out and stroked it. Dany mumbled something in her sleep, but didn’t wake. Irri got up and changed out of her soft sleeping clothes into her leathers. She braided her hair to keep it out of her face, grabbed some horse jerky, and walked out to where the dragons were sleeping, in the same positions they had been the night before.

Viserion raised his head and watched her with golden eyes. Irri held out the jerky and he licked it from her hand. It was a tiny amount of meat for such a large creature, but he seemed happy enough with it. Irri spoke to him in the same way she spoke to her black horse, keeping her voice soft and even. She knew Dany always spoke to the dragons in High Valyrian, but Irri knew very few words in that language, so she spoke Dothraki.

“Calm, boy, calm,” she said, running her hand along his neck.

Irri moved back toward his wing, and pet him gently along his dactyl ridges and the membranes between them. She climbed up the wing and sat on his back, as she had done the night before, though now she tried to move herself into a better position to ride. She placed herself at the base of his neck, just below his neck spines, and between his wings. His back was flatter there and more comfortable. He was wider than a horse, though, and her legs didn’t feel quite right in the position. She leaned forward and grabbed a tight hold of the spines in front of her, pressing herself flat against the dragon. 

“Ovethates,” she said.  _ Let’s fly _ .

Viserion raised his body off the ground, standing up on his wings. He walked forward, gaining speed, and then raised his wings, running a few steps on his hind legs before leaping up. He beat his wings hard and they soared upward. It felt as if the ground had dropped out from under them and Irri’s stomach dropped, too. She had fallen off many horses before, and had always gotten back on, but a fall from a dragon would be horrifically final. She held tighter to the spines.

At least Viserion wasn’t trying to throw her off. He kept his body level and didn’t bank too sharply. She had know idea how to steer him, however. When Dany rode Sycorax, the dragon just seemed to know what Dany was thinking.

“Bank left,” said Irri.

Viserion turned his head, looking back at her for a moment, and kept flying straight.

“Left,” said Irri a little louder. He kept flying straight.

Irri tried to nudge him with her right foot forward and her left back, the way she turned her horse, but Viserion either didn’t understand or didn’t want to obey.

Irri closed her eyes.  _ Breathe _ , she thought.  _ Just breathe _ . She could feel Viserion breathing beneath her, slow and steady. When she focused even harder, she thought she could even feel his heart beating deep in his cavernous chest. There was an exaltation in flying, a freedom that Irri had never quite experienced before, but one that Viserion felt every day. He was a creature of air and fire and flesh all at once, and now so was she.

She opened her eyes.

_ Left _ , she thought.

Viserion tilted his right wing upward and they curved around to the left. Irri let out a whoop of joy at the simple success. And as they curved back toward the khalasar’s encampment, they saw a black dragon rising up into the air.

_ Faster _ , thought Irri, and Viserion raced forward through the sky toward Sycorax. She was bigger and stronger than Viserion, but he was quicker and reached her in mere seconds. He soared over Sycorax and Irri saw Dany looking up at them from Sycorax’s back. One side of Dany’s lips was quirked up into a smile.

The sun was rising in the east, staining the grassy field with rust gold light. Viserion led the way over them and Sycorax followed his movements. When Viserion turned, so did Sycorax, and often more gracefully. Dany and Sycorax had been flying together for longer after all. Viserion climbed into the air with Irri and then plunged downward, faster than Irri had ever travelled in her life. Sycorax did the same, so the dragons fell together, circling each other as they did so. Irri could see Dany’s silver hair flying out around her face, touched by golden light. 

The dragons pulled up from the dive and landed gently on a low rocky outcropping. Viserion lowered himself to the ground, so Irri could more easily climb down from him.

Once her feet hit the ground, Irri ran over to Dany and threw her arms around her. Without thinking, Irri pressed her lips against Dany’s. She was so elated from the flight that it took Irri a moment to realize what she was doing. She pulled back, her eyes going wide.

“I’m sorry, I-I,” she stammered.

“No, that’s...alright,” said Dany. Her voice was a bit higher than usual and her face had turned bright pink. 

“I just got carried away.” Irri fiddled with her hands, not knowing what to do.

Dany reached out and grabbed Irri’s hands, quieting them.

“I told you, everything is alright.” Dany pulled Irri to her and kissed her this time.

***

The khalasar turned south and travelled toward Lhazar. Many of the kos who served under Khal Drogo wanted to raid the villages as they marched along the Lhazareen roads, but Drogo told them no. One night, they were camped along the foothills of the Sandstone Mountains, just three miles away from Lhazareen village. Dany and Irri ate with Drogo and Laeti at their campfire, when Ko Pono and some of his men approached them, asking once again that his khas be allowed to pillage the town. Drogo looked annoyed and told Pono that the matter had already been discussed.

“This blood witch has ensnared your mind!” Pono shouted, gesturing at Dany.

Drogo stood and walked calmly to Pono, stepping close to the ko and looking down on him.

“You doubt my mind now?” he said. His voice was soft and dangerous.

Pono hesitated a little before Drogo, but then he straightened his shoulders and stood his ground.

“I think you are forgetting what it is to be Dothraki. The sheep people are weak, and the weak must bow to the strong. Let us fill our purses with their coin and wet our swords with their blood,” said Pono.

“No,” said Drogo.

“You do not deserve to be khal.”

Drogo struck Pono hard on the mouth, and Pono staggered back into some of his own men. The arakhs were drawn in a flash of silver, Pono and his men against Drogo, his bloodriders, and Dany’s guards. Laeti and Irri pulled Dany away from the fighting as it broke out and the ring of metal on metal filled the night air. Dany felt herself clench with fear as she watched young Jhogo dueling with a much larger man. Jhogo was quicker though, and managed to knock the arakh from his opponent’s hand and cut the man’s throat with his dagger, all in one smooth movement. Aggo shot two of them down with arrows, and then Drogo slashed Pono’s head from his body. The fight was over.

Dany looked over the damage. There were seven men lying dead or dying in the dirt, most of them from Pono’s khas. Rakharo was bleeding from his cheek and Cohollo’s leg had been hit with an arrow. Haggo lay with the dead, his belly cut open by an arakh. Drogo knelt down next to him, saying a few words quietly, and then stood. He reached down for Pono’s head, cut the braid from it, and raised the head high above him.

Pono’s remaining men bowed before him. They took daggers from their belts and cut their own braids, which they threw to Drogo’s feet. Then they slunk off into the night.

Laeti went over and began to look after Cohollo’s leg and Rakharo’s face. Dany and Irri walked over to Haggo’s body, where Drogo still stood.

“We will send him to Night Lands with a fine horse tomorrow,” said Irri, touching Drogo’s arm.

“May he ride forever,” Drogo said, still looking down.

“May he ride forever,” Dany and Irri repeated.

***

The funeral pyre for Haggo was at least five times larger than Viserys’ had been, though no dragons were born from this one. They had spent the entire day preparing for it. Brego selected Haggo’s favorite horse and cut its throat, so it would be able to carry Haggo’s soul into the Night Lands. Other members of the khalasar gathered wood from the shrubby plants of Lhazar and built the pyre over the horse’s body. They laid out his belongings around it, his tent, his arakh, his clothes, silks, and rugs, and his saddle. Women bathed his body and wrapped up his torn stomach with cloth, then dressed him in his finest leathers. They washed and oiled his long hair, leaving it uncut by Drogo’s orders. Then Haggo was carried and set on top of the pyre.

“I’m sorry,” said Dany quietly, standing next to Drogo.

“It was Pono’s disrespect that killed him, not you,” was Drogo’s reply.

The bodies of Ko Pono and his men had been given back to their families to burn in smaller pyres on the outskirts of town. Despite Pono’s betrayal, the Dothraki did not take out retribution on the dead. They believed all riders must be sent to the Night Lands.

The sun went down and the khalasar gathered around the pyre. Drogo carried the torch himself and lit the tinder, then backed away. Haggo’s wife began to wail as the flames blazed up, rising until the pyre and Haggo’s body were consumed. Some people began a sad song that Dany did not know, but Jhiqui and Irri began to sing along with it.

Dany took Irri’s hand. They looked up into the dark sky, searching the stars to see the new light of Haggo riding in the Night Lands.

***

The khalasar reached the Khyzai Pass, and as they began to cross through the mountains, Dany and Irri flew ahead to Astapor. 

The red city looked unchanged from so high above, though Dany did notice several ships docked in the harbor. She said a quick prayer that the ships were merchants and travellers, not slavers or invaders. They flew downward and Dany saw a flash of green atop Missandei’s pyramid. 

Rhaegal flew upwards to them, with Missandei sitting atop him.

_ Three dragons. One black, one green, one pale. Three riders. One east, one south, one west. Three fires they would light. One for life, one for death, and one eternal. Or something like that _ , Dany thought. 

The dragons soared together, flying in a wide circle around the city, while children ran and waved up at them from the streets. Then they flew back to the top level of the step pyramid and alighted.

Dany dismounted and ran to hug Missandei.

“It’s so good to see you, my friend,” said Dany. She pulled Missandei over to Irri to introduce them.

“I am glad to finally meet you, Queen Missandei,” said Irri, with a slightly awkward bow.

Missandei looked flattered, but surprised.

“Please, just Missandei. I think, under the circumstances, we are close enough to family,” she said, looking up at the dragons.

“Come, we should gather the council. There will be time to catch up more once Slaver’s Bay is free,” said Missandei, taking them both by the hands and pulling them into the pyramid.

***

“Yunkai is the weaker, so we will hit them first,” said Grey Worm. He stood at the head of the council table, where a map of Slaver’s Bay had been laid out. Wooden blocks had been placed upon the map to represent the armies, each painted with a specific symbol - a horse head for the Dothraki blocks, a spear for the Unsullied, a circle for the Yunkish and their sellswords, and a wing for the dragons. As Grey Worm spoke, he moved each piece into position.

The Council of Astapor sat around the table, with Missandei on Grey Worm’s right and Ser Barristan on the left. Dany and Irri were next to Missandei. The rest of the advisors wrapped around the table and behind them stood several Unsullied guards.

“The Dothraki riders will cross the Khyzai Pass and march beyond Meereen, coming to Yunkai from the north. Ten ships will bring a thousand Unsullied up the coast, and we will land here, and march to Yunkai from the south. The dragons will burn the defenses on the outer wall, and then we will make our demands,” said Grey Worm, continuing with his presentation.

“And if these demands are not met?” asked Baran. She was a freeborn woman of middle age, who had been running a small merchant business since her husband’s death, trading in silks and other textiles mostly. She was one of the trade and commerce advisors. 

“Then their city will fall, all their ships will be burned, and all the Wise Masters of Yunkai will be given to the Dothraki horde,” said Dany to answer her question.

“You would open the gates of Yunkai to the horde?” asked Ser Barristan.

“She will not have to,” said Missandei. “Forty thousand Dothraki, one thousand Unsullied, and three dragons will wait at their gates. The sellswords have seen what one dragon can do to their army. They will not stand against three. The slave soldiers will throw down their weapons, as well. And then what will the Wise Masters have to hide behind, their bed slaves? Our demands are fair. They will keep their lives and a portion of their wealth.”

“They will have ballistas to fire against the dragons,” said Ser Barristan.

“How long do they take to reload?” asked Dany.

“The men must place the bolt, wind the crank, and aim. Thirty seconds at least.”

“And then they must hit a moving target up in the air, while aiming a heavy and unwieldy weapon. Do you think we should be worried, Ser?”

“I think you should be careful. It only takes one lucky shot. Your ancestor, Rhaenys, learned that, when a Dornish bolt pierced her dragon, Meraxes, through the eye.”

Dany was quiet. She stared at the wall of Yunkai on the map.

“We should attack at night, then,” said Missandei. “We’ll see the fires of Yunkai, but they will not see us.”

Ser Barristan nodded his head once in approval - or at least acceptance - and Grey Worm moved the dragon tokens on the wall of Yunkai on the map. 

“Who will lead the Unsullied?” asked Dany.

“This one will,” said Grey Worm, without hesitation.

“ _ I _ will,” corrected Missandei.

“Are you sure that is wise? You command all the Unsullied,” said Zotta, a freedman from the Summer Isles.

“Where Queen Missandei goes, I go.” Grey Worm looked at the other Unsullied standing in the room. “Cetherys will be in charge of the city’s security while I am gone.”

The Unsullied all nodded.

***

After the meeting, Missandei led Irri and Dany back up to the balcony on one of the highest levels of the pyramid and into the beautiful gardens it contained. The dragons were above them, lounging around the pyramid’s apex. It was good to see them all together once more, the sister and two brothers. It was more than Dany ever got to have with her own brothers, not that that was a terrible thing, in the case of Viserys. She would have liked to have known Rhaegar, though. All she had of him were stories.

Grey Worm and two of Missandei’s personal Unsullied guards followed them outside. Grey Worm sat with them on the padded chairs in the garden, though he kept his back rigid as an iron rod, and didn’t look all that comfortable. The other two guards remained standing behind Missandei, even when offered a seat. Missandei ordered them to take off their helmets, which they did, though they kept their spears in hand. With their helmets removed, Dany was able to get a better look at them. One was a Summer Islander, with dark black skin and long graceful limbs. The other was a little lighter in complexion, more like Missandei. He looked to be about sixteen or so.

“Dany, this is Loyal Sword,” said Missandei of the Summer Islander. “And this fine soldier is my brother Marselen.” Missandei reaching out to take the younger man’s hand. Dany saw a smile flit across his face, but then he returned to his neutral expression. “He takes his duty of guarding me very seriously.”

“As he should,” said Grey Worm.

“Missandei is the only family I have left to me,” said Marselen. He squeezed Missandei’s hand once and then let it go.

Dany frowned. “I thought you had two brothers still living in the Unsullied,” she said slowly.

Missandei looked down at her hands. “Mossador was killed by a soldier when Astapor was liberated. I only found out when I found Marselen.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Dany, reaching over to put her hand on Missandei’s shoulder.

“He died free,” said Marselen.

They had been speaking in the Valyrian, the language used by the Unsullied, so Dany quickly told Irri in Dothraki what had happened. Irri said a quiet prayer for him. Grey Worm had once told Dany that one day of freedom was worth more than a lifetime in chains. Mossador had not had even a whole day of freedom, but he had helped win it for others. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, we have our three dragonriders!  
> RIP Haggo


	17. Yunkai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C/W: this one gets kind of dark at the end. The road to Meereen has some gruesome stuff.

Betel took a large swig of honeyed mead. He wasn’t supposed to be drinking on guard duty, but it was fantastically boring to stand on a brick wall all night long. The only thing to do was watch the sellsword camps outside the city and listen to the laughter and shouts from them, or watch the interior of the city of Yunkai and listen to the laughter and shouts of the Wise Masters. To make it worse, the salary was piss poor. He made only pennies to man the wall, hardly better than the slave soldiers, though there were no slave soldiers on the wall tonight. After the rebellion in Astapor, they had all been locked away in the prisons and fighting pits, for fear that they, too, would catch dangerous ideas. Betel sighed, and took another drink.

There were a few men on the wall with him, but most of them were worse to talk to than no one. He would rather stand in silence for hours than listen to Grazdan jo Karshan complain about the crusty disease that was growing on his feet again. Especially since Grazdan never appreciated when Betel suggested he simply cut the feet off if they bothered him so much.

There were also the crucified slaves, set out on the wall in between the ballistas. There were meant to serve as a warning to all slaves not to rise against the Masters, but all they did was make Betel’s night ever worse, releasing their putrefying scent of decay into the air around him.

Betel finished his flagon of mead and set it on the wall in front of him. He should have brought a second. Grazdan was glaring at Betel now, and Betel sneered right back him. 

There was no moon to see by, only the stars and the dim glow of the torches. The Masters didn’t want to pay for all the oil, so the torches on the walls always burned low. Betel looked back at the bright fires in the gardens of Master’s step pyramids. He sighed and looked up, and saw a shadow passing in front of the stars. He frowned. The shadow grew larger, covering up more of the stars.

_ What the fuck is that? _ he thought.

Betel didn’t get a chance to think anything after that. Before he could even register that the shadow he saw was a descending dragon, the dragon in question opened her great jaws and set his section of the wall on fire. There was only a moment of pain coursing through his body, but the pain blew away into ash, leaving only a few cracked pieces of his bones behind.

***

Ballistas, soldiers, and the crucified corpses of slaves were all consumed by fire as Dany and Sycorax covered the southeastern wall. In the distance, she could see the blue-green flames of Rhaegal to the north, along the coastal wall, and the white fire of Viserion to the west. Men were screaming and fleeing the wall in frantic and confused terror. Dany saw some of the soldiers begin to turn a heavy ballista toward them, but Sycorax hit it with a burst of flame before they could even aim.

Sycorax pulled up then, rising out of range, and Dany heard a few bolts loose from the ballistas, though none came anywhere close to her. They circled around and hit the ballistas from the other side.

The sellswords outside the walls were shouting and running out of their tents, but there was little to nothing they could do now. Dany was surprised they were even there. In the darkness, she could not tell if they were the same ones she had burned at the Battle of Astapor, but either way, the Yunkish must have been paying the men a ludicrous amount to stay. Dany ignored them. They were not her target tonight.

Dany continued her mission and the wall of Yunkai burned, sending up great clouds of black smoke that smelled like cooking meat. Dany and Sycorax circled north, as Missandei finished off the last of the ballistas. Together, they curved around south, flying straight across the city. Sycorax dipped low as they passed over the largest of the pyramids. Many of the Wise Masters were standing out in their balconies, watching the fires burning on the walls with mixed expressions of anger and fear. Dany wanted them to see Sycorax as she flew over.

Irri and Viserion waited for them just past the southern wall, and the three dragons hovered together for a moment, watching the city. Then Missandei turned south toward the Unsullied camp, and Dany and Irri curved north back to the Dothraki, who waited less than a day’s ride outside of the city.

***

There were still a few wisps of smoke rising into the late afternoon air as forty thousand Dothraki rode up to the walls of Yunkai from the north and one thousand Unsullied marched up from the south. The sellsword camp sat abandoned in front of the city, with only a few empty tents and trash left behind. The dragons circled the city like buzzards, high up in the sky, but their riders sat on horseback. Beside Dany, Irri, and Missandei on one side was Khal Drogo, with his bloodriders behind him and his kos behind them. On the other side was Grey Worm, Stalwart Shield, and Ser Jorah. 

The gates of Yunkai cracked opened and a single figure walked out. This time, Grazdan mo Eraz rode in no palanquin and had no slaves or guards attending to him. He wore a light blue tokar, fringed with gold, that was covered in dust around the hem by the time he reached them.

He bowed, and his face twisted a little, as if doing so were painful.

“Dragon Queens, Mighty Khal, Yunkai welcomes you to its noble gates,” he said.

Dany translated his Valyrian for the Dothraki, and she saw Drogo’s eyes looking over the smoking wall with disdain.

“As I told you once, we are a generous people. We are prepared to offer you gold and riches beyond imagining, if you will turn your armies away from our walls and return to Astapor. We will resume trade with Astapor, and support our in sister city in her decision to ban slavery. We ask that you respect our decision to continue with our traditions.”

“I do not respect it,” said Missandei.

Grazdan looked up sharply at her. Missandei had never ridden a horse before and had been nervous to try, but Dany thought she looked quite regal. Drogo had selected an old and gentle gelding for her to ride that day.

“We will tell you our demands, and you will accept them. If you do not accept them, your gates will be burned open and the horde will take your city,” said Missandei.

Dany translated her words quickly and Drogo chuckled a little.

“You will release every slave within your city. You will give each slave a bag of one hundred gold pieces or luxuries of similar value. You will give them enough food to make the journey to Astapor. You will give the Dothraki a bag of one hundred gold pieces for each slave within your city. You will take no more slaves. If you do take any more slaves, you will pay the same price for them every year when we return. If you comply with these demands, then you may keep your remaining wealth, your food, and your lives. We will resume trade with you, once Yunkai formally bans the practice of slavery,” said Missandei.

“This is ludicrous,” hissed Grazdan. “There are two hundred thousand slaves in that city. You would have us give up two hundred gold pieces for each?”

“You can give up forty million in gold. Or you can give up all of it,” said Missandei

Khal Drogo drew his arakh and laid it casually across his lap. His horse snorted. Sycorax flew down and landed behind Dany. She raised her head over the silver horse to look at Grazdan.

Grazdan bowed again.

“I will present your demands to the Wise Masters,” he said, and with that he turned and walked back to the city.

***

The gates didn’t open again until the next day. The Dothraki and the Unsullied made camp, with hundreds of guards posted in case of any treachery on the part of the Yunkish. When they sun rose, they remounted their horses and reformed their lines.

Then the gates opened and the slaves began to walk out. There were so many of them. Dany had heard Grazdan say that there were two hundred thousand, but she hadn’t considered what that would truly look like. It was overwhelming to see the huge numbers of them. There were babies, children, men and women in the prime, and only a few old people. There were slaves from Yi Ti, the Summer Islands, Naath, and even wildings from Westeros. The great crowd of them hesitated in front of the armies. Then one young boy stepped forward and held up two cloth bags to Khal Drogo.

Drogo leaned down from his horse and took one of the bags, which he handed to another rider who tossed it into one of the many carts they had brought.

Missandei stepped forward. She didn’t sit on a horse today, but walked at the same level as the newly freed slaves. Grey Worm and a group of Unsullied followed her, but she motioned with her hand for them to wait.

“People of Yunkai, I am called Missandei. I was born on the island of Naath, and taken in chains to Astapor when I was a child. I would have lived out my life in chains, until the Mother of Dragons sent me one of her children.”

Missandei looked back at Dany as she spoke, and Dany felt herself blush a little. The freed people all looked at her and then up into the sky at the dragons. 

Missandei continued. “With the dragon, Rhaegal, we took back Astapor from the Masters and gave it to the people who built her. Astapor is free. There are no slaves there now. I would like you to come with me to Astapor, to live there as my people, as citizens and not slaves. If you wish, you may find passage back to the places you were born, but know that Astapor will always open her gates for those who wear newly broken chains. Will you come with us?”

She stopped and the crowd was silent. She looked back at Dany and Grey Worm and then back at the crowd.

“Mhysa!” shouted a woman in the distance.

“Mhysa!” said a man toward the front of the crowd.

More of the crowd began to pick up the cry, until two hundred thousand voices were saying the word. It was deafening, awe-inspiring. Dany looked across the crowd to the high yellow brick walls of Yunkai and the pyramids of the wealthy. She wished she could be closer, close enough to see the faces of the Masters as they heard the cheers from outside.

They would send the freed people of Yunkai back to Astapor with the Unsullied, and then they would take Meereen. Dany caught Irri’s eye amidst the clamor, and smiled at her. Irri looked shocked at the spectacle of it all, but she smiled back.

***

Stalwart Shield led three hundred Unsullied to take the freed people back to Astapor. They could send some to the city on the ships that the Unsullied had brought, but not even close to all of them. The rest would have to walk the three hundred miles to Astapor. It was a long journey, but they were a strong people. They had to be, to have survived so long in slavery.

Khal Drogo and his kos were looking pleased at the cartfuls of gold that they had received, though Dany heard a few of the Dothraki complaining that they had not gotten a chance to kill anyone. They seemed impatient to reach Meereen, hoping for a better fight there.

Dany rode north on her silver horse, with Irri and Jhiqui and her khas just behind them.

“What will you do will your portion?” asked Jhogo, as they rode.

“I am going to buy Jhiqui a new horse to replace that nag under her,” said Rakharo.

Jhiqui turned around in her saddle and gave Rakharo a few choice words for insulting her horse. He raised his hands up in surrender.

“I shall buy a new saddle,” said Aggo.

“That’s it?” said Jhogo.

Aggo shrugged. “What more do I want?”

“New weapons, jewels, wine, horses.” 

“I have a good bow and a good horse under me. I’ll leave the jewels to the women. I have no use for them. I’ll consider the wine, though. I liked what we had at the khal’s wedding.”

“I did, too,” said Dany. Then, “What about you, Jhogo? What will you buy with your gold?”

“A good stallion for my mare. Cohollo has a grey one that I like. Or I’ll find one at Vaes Dothrak.”

“If you had all the gold in the world, what would you buy?” Irri asked Dany.

She thought about it for a moment.

“A stone house with a red door, and a lemon tree outside my window.”

“Where would you build it?” asked Irri. Dany had told her before about the house where she grew up, and how she could not remember where in the world it had been.

“Anywhere. Anywhere lemons grow.”

“They’d grow in Astapor.”

“Oranges are better,” said Jhiqui.

Dany laughed, and shook her head.

***

They stopped for the night, camping in the foothills of the Sandstone Mountains. Missandei and the Unsullied had been offered a number of spare Dothraki horses, but they chose to walk instead, as none of them had much experience riding. Dany found it quite funny that Missandei would easily climb onto the back of a dragon, but she grew nervous at the thought of sitting on a horse. Walking on foot, they were a little slower than the riders, and arrived to the camp to find Dany and Irri waiting for them.

“Are you sure you do not want horses?” Irri asked them.

“No, it isn’t too bad of a walk,” said Missandei, panting a little. She had wanted to give Rhaegal a rest from carrying her, as well, and so all three dragons had flown unridden for the day. 

“We should meet with Drogo, to go over our plans,” said Dany.

She led them over to the khal’s campfire. They had no fancy map of Meereen with them, but Grey Worm had a good memory, and he drew it out with a stick in the dirt, using stones to represent the armies again. It was a slow meeting, as they was no common language between them all. Few of the Unsullied spoke Dothraki and few of the Dothraki spoke High Valyrian, so everything needed to be translated.

“We will have to wait for our scouts to return, to know how many sellswords we face, then we can finalize our plans,” said Grey Worm.

“We should send a messenger out, along with the scouts, to offer them the same mercy we showed Yunkai, so long as no slave is harmed,” said Missandei, first in Valyrian, and then Dothraki.

“Write out your message, and I will send a boy to take it to the city,” said Drogo.

Missandei did so, and the next morning, a Dothraki youth named Kovarro took the message for her. They gave him a swift and sure-footed horse, and he galloped away to the north with their demands of surrender. The rest of them continued their slower march toward Meereen, and five days later, Kovarro’s horse returned.

Dany and Irri were riding near the front of the khalasar with Laeti and Drogo, when they spotted the horse. It carried no rider, but rather had an empty saddle and some saddlebags on its back. Its bridle had been removed, but there was a scroll of paper tied around its neck with red rope. Jorah was the first to dismount his horse and go over to Kovarro’s. It tossed its head and shied away from him, but Jorah managed to grab the rope around its neck and calm it. He untied the scroll and rolled it open.

“A gift from Meereen,” he read.

Dany looked at the saddle bags, and saw that one had dripped something down the side of the horse. It was hard to tell against the horse’s black fur, but she could see where the hairs looked crusted and coated with something. Dany got off her silver horse and ran over, and she could hear Irri’s footsteps behind her. She opened the saddlebag and Irri screamed. Dany pulled out what was inside and showed Drogo the head of Kovarro.

Drogo shouted a curse at Meereen. Irri took the head from Dany, beginning to cry. She slumped down in the sand, cradling the boy’s head, and Dany knelt down to hold her. Above them, Viserion shrieked and screamed.

“They killed his soul. He will never ride in the Night Lands,” Irri cried.

Dany pulled her close. “He will. We have his soul with us. We’ll give him a funeral pyre,” she whispered, but Irri wasn’t consoled. A death was one thing to the Dothraki, but a desecration of the dead was far worse.

“They will pay. I will make them pay for this,” Dany said. She kissed Irri’s forehead and continued to whisper words of comfort to her and ones of vengeance.

That night they burned Kovarro’s head and sang the funeral songs for him. Three days later, things became far worse.

The scouts returned, bringing news of thousands of sellswords camped out in front of Meereen, as well as ships sent from Volantis and Tyrosh to support them. They had ballistas on the walls and atop all of the Master’s pyramids. 

“And we saw them doing worse things,” said one of the scouts.

“What sort of things?” Dany asked.

The scout shifted his feet. “Starting fifty miles out from the city, and then once every mile, they have crucified a slave child and left the bodies on the crosses for you to find. They are meant to mark your way to the city gates.”

Dany felt cold inside.

“Fifty crucified children,” she said.

The scout nodded.

“Take ten men. Ride ahead and cut them down,” ordered Drogo.

The scout, turned to do so, but Dany stopped him.

“I’m coming with you. My khas, as well.”

She urged her silver horse forward before anyone could argue, with Rakharo, Jhogo, and Aggo behind her.

When they came to the first child, Dany was nearly sick, and she was not the only one. Even some of the visions she had seen in Stygai could not compare to the horror of seeing such a thing. Dany, Aggo and the others cut the ropes and pried the nails out of the child’s arm and legs. They laid the body on the ground and began to lay rocks on her, building a cairn over her. The ground was too rocky to dig a grave, but they did what they could.

Then they moved on to the next one. The children who looked Dothraki were given funeral pyres and the rest were given cairns. Burning bodies was traditional for the Dothraki and for the Old Valyrians, but most other cultures in Essos buried their dead. They did the best they could for the children.

For the pyres, they gathered what sticks and twigs they could find from the scrubby landscape and laid them out into a bed for the children. Then Dany called Sycorax down and the dragon would light up the pyre for them.

Dany felt more and more numb the closer they got to the city and the more crucifixions she saw, but then, thirteen miles out, they found a child still alive. Rakharo ran forward to begin cutting the boy down, and Dany shouted for one of the other men to ride back and get Laeti. They carried the boy down and laid him as gently as they could on the ground. Dany knelt beside him.

The boy was in a bad way. His arms and legs were swollen from infection and black rot had already crept into the wounds on his wrists and ankles. He was emaciated, with a hollowed stomach and sunken eyes. When Dany touched him, his skin felt as though it was on fire. Aggo brought him some water, but the boy choked and struggled to drink. His breathing was ragged and labored.

“This is beyond what Laeti can heal,” said Aggo softly. “The boy will not survive.”

Dany touched the boy’s face and he looked at her, though his eyes were distant.

“It would be kinder to help him into the next world,” said Aggo.

Dany looked at the boy, and she knew it was true. Laeti would have to remove his arms and legs to prevent the infection from spreading, but the boy was so weak and had lost so much blood. He could never survive such a thing. 

“Do you have any wine?” she asked.

Aggo handed her his wineskin and she gave the boy a sip.

“Ride ahead. I will catch up with you,” she said.

“You should not do this alone,” Aggo said.

“Go on. Ride ahead.”

They hesitated, but then got on their horses, and continued up the road, leaving Dany behind with the boy. She lifted him up, so that he leaned against her, and wrapped her arms around the boy.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I will send you to ride forever in the Night Lands. And I will kill every person responsible for doing this to you,” she whispered.

She took out the dagger from her belt and gave the boy the quickest death she could.


	18. Retribution

Dany’s hands were covered in blood as she drew symbols on the rocks, copying letters and symbols off of her tattoo as she worked. She chanted what she could remember of the language of Asshai, the words coming out harsh and biting from her lips. Sycorax landed next to her, but did not flinch away from the magic this time. Today, Dany was not trying to bend the dragon to her will, she only needed to see. She dipped her fingers into the boy’s blood and placed a dab on her tongue and then rubbed the rest over her eyes. She did the same to Sycorax, rubbing her bloody fingers onto the dragon’s tongue and around the scales of her eyes. Her rage was boiling inside of her.

“Show us. Show us who did this,” Dany said, practically hissing it out. As she said the words, the world seemed to grow dim around her, as if dark clouds had covered the sun. A bright light shone from the north, rising up like a column into the sky.

Dany picked up the boy’s body and laid him out on a bed of sticks. She crossed his hands over his chest. She cut some hairs from her silver horse’s mane and tail and placed them in his hands. Then she drew a rearing stallion in the dirt around the boy, something for him to ride to the Night Lands. She grabbed her bow and quiver from the silver horse’s saddle and climbed onto Sycorax.

“Dracarys,” she said, and Sycorax lit the boy’s funeral pyre. 

Sycorax jumped into the air and flew toward the bright light, the beacon taking them to Meereen. They passed over her khas and the other Dothraki, who were still cutting down the crucified children, but they kept flying forward until they saw the walls of Meereen, rising high above the dirt. In the center of the city was the Great Pyramid, nearly eight hundred feet tall and topped with a massive bronze harpy. Outside of the walls lay the sellsword camps, but Dany ignored them for now. It wasn’t the sellswords who crucified the children. It was the Masters.

Sycorax flew over the walls and Dany could hear the hiss of ballista bolts passing under them, but they all missed the dragon. Under the blood spell, most of the people in the city looked to be cast in shadow, unimportant and not guilty. There were some, though, that shone as if the light of two suns were gleaming down on them. She could see them all, every man and woman who had worked to place those children on the crucifixes; they all glowed like lanterns for Dany to see. And the brightest light of all came from the Great Pyramid.

Dany spotted one illuminated figure, running away down the street, and she urged Sycorax to follow him. Sycorax swooped down and grabbed the man in her talons. As he shrieked and cried, they went back over the wall and tossed him down onto the swellsword camp far below. 

Sycorax turned and flew along the wall, burning ballistas as she went. They saw two bright figures on the wall, and they burned them, too. People were running and screaming in the streets, as Dany flew low, looking for her targets. She saw one, and Sycorax flew down to snatch the man up. This time, the dragon threw him up in the air and burnt him to ash before he hit the ground.

Dany took her bow off her back, and knocked an arrow. They flew over a crowded street, too dense with people for Sycorax to grab one person. Sycorax alighted on a building, and Dany shot two more glowing figures as they ran for cover. She knocked a third arrow, pulled, and aimed at a woman’s retreating back, then loosed the arrow, hitting her right through the chest.

They took flight again, and soared over the fighting pits. There was a larger cluster of the glowing people here. It seemed the Masters had a private box to oversee the matches. Dany counted nearly ten of them, cowering together behind their shadowed guards. Sycorax opened her jaws and lit them all on fire. The people screamed and several thrashed so wildly that they fell, burning, from the box and down into the sandy fighting pit below.

Sycorax flew up higher, and they circled the city, grabbing, burning, and killing every bright, illuminated figure they saw. Soon, there were no more in the streets, only bright beacons over several of the pyramids, brightest of all over the Great Pyramid. They started with the smaller ones. Sycorax flew down, burned through the doors of one, and went crashing into the hallways. There, they were met by soldiers, armed with spears and bows, but Sycorax burned and bit them out of the way. She kept moving through to the central rooms of the pyramid, until they found the guilty Masters in it core. The Masters cried and begged in Ghiscari.

“Dracarys,” said Dany, and Sycorax breathed fire over them.

They flew to the next pyramid and went crashing in through the balcony doors to find the Masters hiding in the top floors. Over and over again they did this, until the illuminated figures were burned out of every pyramid and only the Great Pyramid was left. They flew to the top first, burning away the ballistas as they went, and then coming to hover before the great bronze harpy. Sycorax shrieked and bathed the statue in fire until it glowed red and melted, dripping down from the pyramid’s apex, and into the balcony gardens below. 

Then Sycorax broke through the heavy doors, killing soldiers and sending slaves to flee in the opposite direction. Dany drew her arrows and shot the Masters as they ran from her, as they cowered, and as they pleaded for their lives. They walked down through the pyramid from the upper levels to its base, leaving a bloody, burning trail behind them, until they burst back out onto the streets.

At last, the world grew bright again, with a blue sky above them, as the spell faded from Dany’s eyes. She could see Rhaegal and Viserion, both flying riderless over the walls, burning the ballistas and soldiers as they went. Dany felt the rage and energy fade out of her. She suddenly felt exhaustion hit her and she nearly fell from Sycorax. The dragon roared and leapt into the air, flying out of the city and up into the rocky hills around it, with Rhaegal and Viserion following her as she went.

***

Irri saw none of the crucified bodies, but she saw their cairns and the ashes of their funeral pyres. One of the men with Dany had galloped back to them, saying that one of the children had survived the crucifixion. Laeti ran off with him to try to help the boy, and Drogo had urged the khalasar to move faster.

High in the sky, Rhaegal and Viserion began to scream, and they flew off to the north together, toward Meereen. Irri felt her dread grow with each burial they passed.

They caught up with Laeti, but they found no dying boy. Instead, there was a pile of ash and a bunch of bloody symbols drawn on the rocks surrounding it. Laeti looked at a loss, standing in the middle of the strange scene.

“This is blood magic,” Cohollo hissed.

“Where’s Dany?” asked Irri, growing more and more nervous.

They kept riding forward, and as they grew closer to the city, they saw the smoke rising up into the sky. They found Rakharo, Aggo, and Jhogo, standing on a low cliff that overlooked Meereen. They all looked out and could see the sellswords preparing for battle in front of the smoking walls of the city. The top of the Great Pyramid was broken, but still glittering bronze in the sunlight. Many of the other pyramids had plumes of black smoke billowing out of them.

There was no sign of Dany, though, or any of the dragons.

Missandei and Grey Worm caught up with them, and Missandei’s mouth fell open at the sight of the city. Drogo’s kos rode up to him and asked for his orders. Drogo looked to Missandei.

“Secure the city. Take the sellswords, but hold at the gate,” she said.

Drogo nodded. He rode down from the cliff with the kos, to the army of Dothraki warriors below. Irri got off her horse and went to stand by Missandei, watching as the horde charged forward across the fields to the sellswords that awaited them. The Unsullied moved in after them, marching in a phalanx toward the gates of Meereen.

***

When the battle was over, Irri rode across the battlefield. The sellswords had put up a good enough fight, but there had only been about six thousand of them. They fell quickly to the Dothraki charge. Those who had not run now lay dead or dying in the field.

The Unsullied stood, guarding the gates of Meereen, so that no one could enter or leave its walls. Instead of sacking the city, the Dothraki warriors were picking through the sellswords treasures, collecting what gold or weapons they could find. Laeti had set up a tent, where she and the eunuch healers could tend to the wounded Dothraki and Unsullied, though there were few enough of either.

Rakharo rode over to Irri, with a new arakh strapped to his back.

“You did well, then?” she asked.

“Look,” he said, unsheathing the blade. The handle was simple enough, bound in leather, but the blade had a rippled pattern throughout.

“Is that Valyrian steel?” she asked. She had only seen Valyrian steel once before, but it had only been a dagger.

He nodded. “I took it from a sellsword, one of the Windblown, I think. He was a big brute, but I was quicker. When Daenerys returns I will show it to her,” he said, happily sliding the arakh back into its sheath.

Irri looked up at the sky, searching for some sign of Dany or the dragons, but saw none of them.

“Were Jhogo and Aggo as victorious as you were?” she asked.

“Aggo shot down several men. Jhogo received a cut on his shoulder. He is with Laeti. I think I’ll give him my old arakh,” said Rakharo. Then, “there’s Jhiqui.” 

Irri watched him straighten his shoulders and then proudly ride over to Jhiqui to show her his prize.

Irri looked back up at the sky.

***

Dany was covered in blood and ash. Her skin felt sticky and grimy with it. She didn’t even know how she had gotten in such a state. After all, she had only shot people with arrows from a distance. The blood must have splattered onto her when Sycorax was ripping the Masters apart.

The dragons had flown southeast into the mountains, but then had curved around back to the sea, eventually landing on a rocky beach to the south of Meereen. Dany’s body throbbed with pain as she climbed down from Sycorax. Every muscle ached, except for those in her right arm. Every burning nerve in her was a reminder of Nhehrai’s words, that blood magic could turn back on the user if used improperly. Dany thought her tattoo must have saved her from the worst of it, but she still felt awful.

Dany lay on the beach for a moment, thinking about how much she would like to just close her eyes and forget every bloody, brutal detail from the past few days. She wanted to forget the messenger boy who had been beheaded, the fifty crucified children, and even the Masters who had died screaming. They had deserved it, of that Dany was sure, but she hated how their pleading cries and terrified shouts echoed around in her head.

_ I will not be the queen of ashes _ .

She wasn’t the queen of ashes, she told herself. She was the queen of nothing. She raised dragons and she killed slavers. She wasn’t a ruler.

She pulled herself to her feet and turned to see that all three of the dragons had their eyes fixed on her. She patted each of their noses in turn and then walked out into the shallow waters of the bay. She knelt, picking up handfuls of wet sand and began to scrub all the blood and ash from her skin. She washed and scoured herself until her skin was clean and pink and scratched. Then she walked out of the water and climbed back onto Sycorax.

The sun was sinking in the sky as the dragons flew up into the air and back toward Meereen. By the time they reached the city, the sky was dark and the battles were over. She could see the tents of the khalasar set up all along the outskirts of the field. Even in the dark, she could make out the bodies of the sellswords down below. The city itself was quiet enough. The Unsullied were now guarding its gates and standing on what remained of the wall.

Sycorax circled lower, and Dany found Khal Drogo’s tent. It was the largest and by far the easiest to find. Sycorax landed next to it and Dany entered.

Khal Drogo sat inside with Cohollo, Brego, and Laeti. When he saw Dany, Cohollo drew his arakh, which startled her. Drogo raised his hand, holding Cohollo back.

“She is a maegi,” said Cohollo, his face twisted in anger.

Drogo made a motion with his hand and Cohollo sat, though he kept his weapon drawn. Drogo then turned his gaze to Dany. He gestured for her to sit, as well, which she did.

“What happened today?” he asked her.

Dany looked past him, staring at the tent wall. She didn’t want to talk about the day.

“The Masters killed those children. I killed the Masters.”

Cohollo started to say something, but Laeti put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“The blood on the rocks?” asked Drogo.

It took Dany a moment to realize what he was talking about. She forced herself to make eye contact with him.

“The boy was dying, painfully. Aggo told me it would be kinder to let him have a quick death. So I did, once the others had already ridden ahead. That boy did not deserve to die, none of those children deserved to die. So I used blood magic and I found the ones who had killed them, who had decided to have them killed,” she said, nearly yelling by the end of it.

Cohollo cursed at her. After he had quieted down, Drogo watched Dany for a moment.

“The Dosh Khaleen foretold that you would either bring great prosperity or great ruin to the Dothraki,” he said.

Dany felt herself begin to fume. “I have given you more gold than you could ever dream of spending. I have made your khalasar the richest and most fearsome in all of Essos. What ruin have I ever given you?”

Drogo looked back at Cohollo.

“Leave us,” he told the bloodriders.

They both tried to object, but he shouted it again at them. They both rose and left the tent, glaring at Dany on their way out. Laeti rose and went over to Dany, placing a hand on her face.

“Your skin is burning. I think you are ill, Mother of Dragons,” she said.

“I’m not ill,” Dany snapped, though she felt quite dizzy as she said it. 

Drogo stood and looked down at Dany.

“Cohollo believes that maegi lay with demons and come into the world to suck the life from men. Many of the Dothraki believe this,” he said.

“I don’t lay with demons. All I did was kill some murderers.” 

“I know this. It doesn’t matter to them why. It only matters that you did so. Daenerys, I am your ally. I have been since the day we found you walking in the plains with your dragons. But my khalasar will not follow me if I am allies with a blood witch. We have hidden what you have done from most of the khalasar. They only think that you rode ahead and burned the walls with your dragons. But you must not do this again.” With that, he walked out of the tent.

Laeti dipped a silk cloth in water and wiped Dany’s face with it. She got up and put a pot of water on the fire, throwing some herbs in with it.

“It has drained you, the blood magic,” she said.

“Do you believe I am an evil witch?”

Laeti looked at her. “I believe you are a bit lost, Mother of Dragons. I believe you have a kind heart, but a vengeful nature. It may not have been wrong to kill the Masters, but you must be more careful with the way you go about such things.”

“Magic doesn’t have to be evil.” 

“But it is always dangerous. Besides, it is not about good or evil. It is politics.”

“Politics,” Dany repeated, not following what Laeti meant.

“It is as Drogo said. You want the Dothraki to ally with you. The Dothraki do not trust the maegi. So to keep your friendship with the khalasar, you cannot be so obvious with your magic.”

Dany frowned, mulling that over. Laeti got up and poured the pot of hot water and herbs into a cup, then handed it to Dany. It tasted spicy, and burned a little, but Dany liked it.

“You break the rules of the Dothraki. Irri told me about how you climbed the Mother of Mountains,” said Dany.

Laeti smiled at that. She knelt and brought a hand to cup Dany’s face.

“I break the rules all the time. But I am subtle about it.” She stood and then added, “You should go get some rest. I’ll get a servant to take you to your tent.”

Dany’s feet felt heavy as she followed the servant through the encampment. It seemed that most of the Dothraki had indeed been kept ignorant of her blood spell. Many were sitting out by their campfires and they raised their cups and flagons to her as she passed. They were all in high spirits after defeating the sellswords.

Rakharo, Jhogo, and Aggo were sitting together, but leapt up when they saw Dany.

“You worried us,” said Aggo.

“I’m sorry,” said Dany. They had not seen the blood spell on the rocks. They had already moved ahead on the road, past where she had killed the boy. She wondered how they would react if they did know.

Rakharo was animatedly telling her about killing one of the sellswords. He showed her the Valyrian steel arakh he had won and she did her best to act excited for him.

“You look tired,” said Aggo, when Rakharo finished his story.

“Yes, I’m sorry. It’s just been - it’s been a difficult day.”

“Get some rest, child,” said Aggo kindly. 

As Dany turned to Irri’s tent, Jhiqui came over to the fire. She gave Dany a cold, hard look, but Dany turned away from her, and went inside.

Irri was already asleep when Dany entered the tent, buried under a pile of blankets. Dany undressed as quietly as she could, put on her sleeping garments, and climbed into the bed next to Irri. She wrapped her arms around Irri and pulled the other girl close.

“You really scared me today,” said Irri.

Dany startled a little. She hadn’t realized Irri was still awake.

“I scared you?” Dany asked.

Irri nodded her head and then laid it on Dany’s shoulder.

“You know I’ve done blood magic before. I told you everything that happened in Asshai,” said Dany.

“I don’t care about that. I’m not a superstitious old man. I know magic is dangerous, and I trust you to be careful with it. Though I don’t think you were very careful today.” She reached up and touched Dany’s face, feeling how warm her skin was.

“Laeti gave me something for the fever. It will soon pass.”

“It isn’t just the magic. What you did was reckless.” Irri sat up as she spoke. “Do you remember how every night we would sit by the fire with Missandei, Grey Worm and the khal, and we would discuss our strategy for taking the city?”

“I do,” said Dany, knowing where this was headed.

“The plan was not for you to fly into Meereen alone, burn the Masters, terrify the people, and almost get yourself killed.”

“I suppose it wasn’t. But I think I did quite well with my improvised plan.” Dany was trying to get a smile from Irri, but Irri just gave her a stern look.

“I should have waited for you and Missandei, that I’ll admit. But you know that no matter what we did, the Great Masters weren’t going to surrender. They knew what happened in Yunkai. They knew we had three dragons and a massive army, and still they killed those children. The Masters thought they were untouchable. And I showed them they were not,” said Dany.

“Yes, you went on a rampage through the city.”

Dany did feel a little guilty about that. She remembered how the people went running from her, screaming and hiding, not just the Masters, but the slaves and the other citizens, as well. But it had all been worth it in the end, hadn’t it?

“It wasn’t as reckless as you think. It might not have seemed so, but I was trying to prevent innocents from dying. The spell I did, it allowed me to see which of the Masters put the children on the crosses, or at least ordered others to do so, and which had no hand in the matter. We killed only the guilty, and the soldiers who got in our way.”

“You still scared me,” said Irri.

Dany looked down at her lap. She felt Irri’s hand on her shoulder.

“You are important to me. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose Viserion either. Please be more careful next time,” Irri said.

Dany took her hand and squeezed it.

“I will. I promise,” she said.

Irri settled back down in the blankets, with her back to Dany, and Dany wrapped her arms around Irri again. There was something else she wanted to say to Irri, but she couldn’t quite work up the courage to do so. Perhaps in the morning.


	19. Meereen

Dany woke up early and went out to cook Irri some breakfast on one of the nearby campfires. It had some burning embers still, so Dany added a few more logs and blew it back into a flame. She got some jerky and vegetables from the tent, skewered them on a stick and began to warm them over the fire. As she did so, Jorah came over and sat beside her.

“If you are here to tell me that I acted rashly or wrongly yesterday, I must tell you, I am too tired to hear it again,” she said.

“I’m not here to tell you that you were wrong. If you were, then you already know it. Laeti wanted me to give you this. She said to chew on it.” 

He handed Dany a piece of wood that had been dipped in a gummy sort of sap. Dany took it and began to chew on the end of it. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, but it did make her feel slightly more invigorated. Jorah was quiet for a time, letting them sit in silence, but then he spoke.

“We all make mistakes in our lives. I, myself, have made more than my share. But those with power, well, their mistakes tend to have far greater impact than the rest of us. Whether you like it or not, you wield an incredible power as the Mother of Dragons. Your mistakes, when you make them, are going to be very big indeed.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Take heart. Your successes will be even bigger.” He stood and patted her on the shoulder, and then walked away through the encampment.

***

Missandei looked exhausted from the few times that Dany saw her. She and Grey Worm spent days in Meereen, negotiating with the remaining Masters and the freeborn citizens after Dany’s rampage. At first, the Masters refused to release the slaves, saying that as soon as they did, they thought the dragons would kill them all and burn the whole city down. The meetings were tense, from what the Unsullied told Dany, but Missandei was making slow progress. She was patient, but there were many things she refused to compromise on, and so the talks went on and on for over a week.

Dany stayed in the camp with the Dothraki during it all. She wanted to know more about the negotiations, and could feel herself growing restless and irritated by the wait. A part of her wanted to fly the dragons back into the city and force the Masters to release every slave, but Missandei told her they had to leave some structures in tact. If Meereen collapsed, the slaves and the freeborn citizens could become casualties in the war between her and the Masters.

Jhiqui and Drogo had mostly forgiven Dany for the blood magic, though Cohollo was still suspicious and cold to her. An angry, petty part of herself want to smear sheep’s blood on his tent one night just to scare him, but she held herself back from doing so. The Dothraki were her allies, and they were Irri’s people. She needed to maintain some relationship with them, and so, instead, she had apologized to Cohollo for scaring him, lied to him that she would never perform such magic again, and promised to buy him a new bridle for his horse and a new silk dress for his wife. In return, he had given her a drink made of mare’s milk and spices and told her it would cleanse her of the demonic spirits. She accepted it graciously and found that it actually tasted quite nice. After that, he was not exactly warm to her, but they were courteous enough to each other once again.

“I think you’re learning the game,” said Irri, when Dany came back from speaking with Cohollo. She was sitting by their campfire, skinning some hares that Aggo and Dany had shot for dinner.

“What game is that?” asked Dany.

“The game all the leaders play, the khals and the queens. You’re getting better at it.”

“It’s just like archery. I’m a slow learner, but I learn. Did I tell how I hit three people right through the heart in Meereen?”

Irri rolled her eyes at Dany.

“When you shot into a crowded street full of innocent people. I’m not sure that you should be prideful of that, jalan atthirari anni,” she said.

“I didn’t hit any innocent people, only my targets,” said Dany, then she stopped. She looked at Irri, who was blushing a little.

“Did you just say ‘jalan atthirari anni’?” Dany asked. It was a common phrase in Dothraki, used by husbands for their wives. It meant “moon of my life.”

Irri looked embarrassed for a moment, but then she met Dany’s eyes. “Are you not that?”

Dany sat down next to Irri, watching her closely.

“Should I call you ‘moon of my life,’ as well? Or should one of us be ‘my sun and stars’?” asked Dany.

“I think we can both be moons.” Irri smiled as she said it, and Dany leaned over and kissed her, bringing her hand up to Irri’s face.

Rakharo interrupted them, loudly asking if the rabbits were cooked and ready. Dany felt herself turn a little red at being caught. She and Irri usually only kissed when they were alone in their tent, but Rakharo said nothing about it.

“Lazy,” Irri called him. “What have you done for the rabbits? They are Dany and Aggo’s.”

Rakharo looked offended. “I am like Daenerys’ bloodrider, blood of her blood. My sword is hers, and I think her rabbits are mine.” He looked up hopefully at Dany.

“We have enough…” said Dany.

“Go cut rosemary for me. There’s some growing on the hill,” Irri told Rakharo. He sighed but got up to go collect it. He returned with Jhogo, both with their arms full of branches of the herb. Irri shook her head, asking them why she would need so much of the plant for just three hares. 

Aggo joined them, bringing some dried figs that he had managed to buy, and then Jhiqui, who brought no food, but had something far better to offer them, the news from Missandei that at last Meereen had agreed to release its slaves and pay the same gold price as Astapor.

“We should drink to this,” said Jhogo, running back to his tent. He came back with a casket of sweet wine and poured it out for them.

“To victory,” he said.

“To the end of slavery,” said Irri.

***

Dany sat nervously on her horse as the gates of Meereen opened and the former slaves began to walk out. She remembered them running through the streets away from Sycorax, worried they would be killed by the dragon, as well. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been there. Maybe she should have stayed back and let Missandei, Irri, and Drogo greet them. Her silver horse stomped her hoof, as if she sensed Dany’s nerves.

The freed slaves came out, and as they had in Yunkai, each one carrying two bags of gold coins, one for the Dothraki and one to keep. As part of the negotiations, Missandei had convinced Meereen to lend them over a hundred ships to help move the people to Astapor, those that wanted to leave, at least. Several thousand of the freed slaves were staying in Meereen, for better or worse. Missandei had told the Masters she would return in a year or so to ensure the people were all still free. The rest of them came out, gave the gold to the Dothraki and then were directed by the Unsullied to the harbor to begin boarding the ships.

The three dragons were fishing in the bay, just beyond where the ships were docked. Dany watched the sun glint off their wet scales as they dove in and out of the water.

A woman set one of her bags of gold into the Dothraki wagon and then walked over to Dany. Her slave collar was gone, but her clothing was still ragged and made of coarse cloth. She said something in Ghiscari to Dany. 

“She says her son was one of the children crucified by the Masters,” said Missandei. She was standing nearby and overheard the woman.

Dany looked back at the woman. She had the hard expression of a woman who had lived through plenty of pain. There was a deep sort of sorrow in her eyes, but something fierce in them, as well.

“Can you tell her I’m sorry for the loss of her child?” asked Dany.

Missandei said it to the woman in Ghiscari. The woman reached up and grabbed Dany’s hands, speaking to her.

“She says she’s glad you came. She was on the street and she saw you burn two of the Masters. She says she hopes every slave owner has nightmares about you, the same way she has had nightmares every night of her son’s death,” translated Missandei.

The woman leaned forward and in the common tongue she said, “Kill the Masters.”

“Kill the Masters,” Dany repeated.

The woman smiled and turned to walk to the harbor.

“The past week has been very difficult, but I think for that alone, it was worth it,” said Missandei. She reached up and scratched Dany’s silver horse on her withers.

Dany bent down on the horse and kissed the top of Missandei’s head. 

“Do you want to fly back to Astapor or ride in the ships?” asked Dany.

“The ships, I think. I don’t want to leave Grey Worm - or any of the Unsullied, I mean.”

“Alright, we go by sea,” said Dany.

***

Missandei had invited the khalasar to Astapor. It was a courteous thing to do and a way to further strengthen their alliance. Dany, however, suspected she might have another motive, as well.

“The khalasar has gotten millions in gold pieces from the liberation of Slaver’s Bay. They have plenty of it to spend. Astapor has thousands of free slaves looking to establish their new businesses. There are taverns, bakeries, metalsmiths, brothels, fish markets, dressmakers, everything, all in need of more clients,” said Missandei, when Dany asked her about it.

Dany laughed at that.

Her khas, Jhiqui, and Irri all rode on the ship, while the rest of the khalasar rode south on horseback. It was the first time at sea for all of them, and each one of them hated it. Jhiqui and Jhogo became terribly seasick and spent the first day leaning over the railings. Rakharo soon grew restless and uneasy, and spent his time pacing around, complaining that there was no room to move. Aggo and Irri were quieter about their discomfort, but Dany could see it was very much still present. Irri was afraid of the journey, afraid that the ship would sink and they would all drown. Dany reminded her that she was a very strong swimmer, but Irri said that the sea was far deeper and more menacing than any lake.

On the third day, Dany went up to stand by Missandei on the deck, as the ship sailed past Yunkai.

“It will need a new name,” said Missandei.

“What will?”

Missandei nodded her head at the water. “Slaver’s Bay,” she said.

“Did you have anything in mind?” Dany watched as Rhaegal dove straight into the water. He came back out with an open mouth full of fish and breathed a small burst of fire to cook them as they sat in his jaws. He had developed quite a taste for fish during his time on the coast.

“Not yet. I was hoping you would have some suggestions.”

Dany thought about it for a moment. “The Bay of Dragons?” she said.

“I like that. The Bay of Dragons.”

They watched Viserion plunge into the sea, not quite as graceful as Rhaegal had been.

“May I ask you something else?” asked Missandei. Her tone sounded quite serious.

“Of course.”

Missandei looked around the deck, and then took Dany’s hand and pulled her to the empty bow. She sat down with her back against the railing and Dany joined her.

“I have been having some...feelings,” said Missandei.

“Feelings?” Dany grew a little worried by what she meant. Angry feelings? Betrayed feelings?

“Towards Grey Worm.”

Dany raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Good. Grey Worm seems like a very good man. He’s very loyal to you.”

“Yes, he is loyal. But… he’s - how much do you know of the Unsullied?”

“I know they are said to be some of the finest fighters in the known world. Their discipline is unmatched. They feel no fear or pain. All the wealthiest Magisters in Pentos had Unsullied as guards in their manses.”

Missandei gave her an odd look. “But do you know… how they become Unsullied?”

“They train for many years? Oh, you’re asking if I know that they are eunuchs. Yes, I have heard that.”

“So, do you think they are able to…?” Missandei trailed off.

“I haven’t thought about it.” In all honesty, Dany didn’t have much experience with such things. She had seen animals mating before and Doreah had given her a brief explanation the night before she was meant to marry Drogo, but other than that, she knew little about the relations between men and women. “Do they have any of their...parts left?” Dany asked.

Missandei shook her head. “How do you and Irri have such relations?” she asked after a moment.

Dany was startled. “You know about Irri and I?”

Missandei burst out laughing at that. 

“Everyone knows about you and Irri,” she said once she had recovered.

“Oh.”

Missandei put her arm around Dany’s shoulder and said, “You’re not very subtle, my friend. And I know such relationships are not always accepted in the world, but they should be. Maybe someday they will be. They will always be allowed in Astapor while I am a queen. But even if you travel to places where they aren’t, who is going to tell the Mother of Dragons that she isn’t allowed to love another woman?”

Dany smiled. Her brother had always talked of such relationships with disgust. He called them perversions. But he was dead, and Dany was alive.

“But you didn’t answer my question,” said Missandei.

“I suppose not. Well, we may not have those parts, but we do have other things. Hands and fingers, and mouths,” said Dany. She could feel her face turning red. She had never talked about this with anyone but Irri before. “Grey Worm still has those. I am sure he could learn to use them in time. Do you know if he shares your feelings?”

“Sometimes when he looks at me, I think he does, but I don’t know for sure. Perhaps he just loves me as his queen.”

“He doesn’t like to leave your side.”

“No,” said Missandei, thinking about it. “No, he doesn’t.”


	20. The Bay of Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Updates may be a little late for a while. My laptop is having some issues, so I need to get it fixed.

Astapor looked peaceful enough as they sailed back into the harbor, though Ser Barristan and the rest of the council gave them reports of a small rebellion of insurgents. The rebels were surviving members of the highborn families, no doubt, angry at losing their slaves and lashing out in violence. They called themselves the Sons of the Harpy, hiding their faces behind gold masks that had been shaped in the image of the great harpy statue. They had killed two Unsullied and fourteen freedmen in the time that Missandei had been away, though the Unsullied had killed seven of them and arrested three for questioning. The freedmen and several of the freeborn citizens who supported Missandei had formed a counter vigilante group called the Brazen Beasts. The council had resisted the Brazen Beasts at first, but now gave them their endorsement and recommended Missandei do the same. The Unsullied were unmatched on the battlefield, but shadowy guerrilla attacks were another matter. The council thought they could use the help, though Ser Barristan had insisted that the Brazen Beasts not wear masks as the Sons of the Harpy did. He thought no honest man should hide behind a mask.

“We should discuss it with them tomorrow. I would like to meet with the leaders of the Brazen Beasts, and all the Unsullied officers, as well,” said Missandei.

Dany thought she should wait another day. After the Meereenese negotiations and the four day ship voyage, Missandei looked exhausted, but there was no rest for the queen, Dany supposed. There was too much to do, too much to discuss.

The news from the council wasn’t all as grim as the Sons of the Harpy. They had some good news from Braavos and Pentos. As the only two of the Free Cities to ban slavery, both had agreed to continue and even increase trade with Astapor. Along with YiTi, Lhazar, and Asshai, that gave the city some promising trade partners. Unfortunately, Volantis, Tyrosh, and Lys had cut off all trade, and Myr and Qohor were thinking of doing the same. 

The arrival of the thousands of slaves from Yunkai and Meereen was chaotic, to say the least, though Astapor was a good city to host them. It had once been a large city, both in size and in population, but over the years the population had shrunk, until Astapor had less than half the people of Yunkai and only a small fraction of Meereen’s population. The easternmost neighborhoods were largely left vacant and their brick buildings had fallen into disrepair. Zotta, the council member in charge of reconstruction, had been putting crews of builders together to begin restorations so they could move many of the freedmen into those parts of the city. Until then, there were shelters and orphanages set up, though many people just moved into the broken down old buildings and made do with them as they were.

Many of the pyramids had been taken over by freedmen, as well. They were converted into residences and businesses, but there were many conflicts brought before the council and Missandei over who had the right to live where.

Missandei’s decision to invite the Dothraki into the city proved wise enough. The khalasar arrived at the gates several days after the ships had. Most of them decided to sleep outside the walls in their tents, though they came in through the gates to visit the markets, wine shops, and brothels. Some of the Astapori business owners had complained about letting the horde into the city, but as soon as they began to receive the plentiful gold from the Dothraki, their complaints died. Khal Drogo, Laeti, and his bloodriders stayed in the pyramid that Missandei shared with Unsullied, and Laeti delighted in climbing up the side of the building, from the upper balcony and up to the very apex of the pyramid. Drogo watched her, looking uncharacteristically nervous as she did this.

The council had given one of the vacant step pyramids to the freed bed slaves of Yunkai, who had started converting it into a large brothel and a training school for courtesans. Based on the number of people she saw entering the pyramid, Dany imagined the former bed slaves would soon be the richest people in all of Yunkai.

***

Dany and Irri sat on the beach and watched the children of Astapor running through the sand, climbing up onto the rocks and leaping off into the clear blue waters of the bay. Some of them were just playing, but others were diving for oysters and clams along the seafloor. One skinny boy came up and proudly showed them his bag of mollusks.

“That’s wonderful,” Dany told him, “Now, run them to the market quickly, while they’re still fresh.”

He dug one of the oysters out of the bag, handed it to Irri, and then ran off back toward the harbor gate. Irri examined the shell. 

“I’ve eaten one of these before, but it was already opened and prepared. Are you supposed to cook them?” she asked.

Dany took the oyster and examined it. She had seen them being sold in Braavos, but she had never had the money to buy them. She had mostly eaten old bread, cheese, and the occasional fish head during her time there. “I don’t know. How do you even get it open?”

They heard a laugh behind them and turned to see Missandei walking over to them with Grey Worm and a retinue of other Unsullied. Dany thought she could see Marselen and Loyal Sword beneath their helmets.

“Here, I’ll show you,” Missandei said, sitting next to them in the sand. She asked for a knife from one of the Unsullied and pried open the shell. She then used the knife to scoop around under the fleshy part inside and handed it back to Dany.

“Go on. I’ve had one before,” said Irri.

Dany pulled the thing out with her fingers and chewed it down. It was slimy and horrible, but Missandei was looking at her so hopefully that Dany pretended to love it.

“We always ate them when I was a child. Do you remember, Marselen?” said Missandei.

Her brother nodded. All the Unsullied remained standing stiffly on the beach, spears and shields in hand.

“Will you all sit with us?” Dany asked.

“We must be ready to protect the queen,” said Grey Worm.

Dany looked around at the children on the beach and the fishing boats bobbing along in the water. It was hardly the most dangerous place to be, but she understood why Grey Worm was on edge. The Sons of the Harpy had vandalized the Plaza of Pride the night before, painting rude sayings about Missandei on the bricks. Two of them had been arrested, but Grey Worm worried about an outright attack. Dany looked over at the dragons, lazing on the sunny rocks about a hundred yards from them.

“If I bring three fire breathing guards to defend her, will you all sit with us?”

Grey Worm eyed the dragons and then nodded. Dany whistled. The dragons flew over and landed in the sand around them all, quickly settling themselves down again to sleep in the sun. Rhaegal lay his head next to Missandei and she reached forward to pet it. Marselen took off his helmet and was the first to sit down, setting his shield and spear beside him. The others followed, with Grey Worm last of all. Even with the dragons, though, he looked alert and ready, as if he still expected an attack to come. 

They watched as some other Unsullied came down to the beach, Stalwart Shield among them. They were not on duty, and instead of their uniforms, they wore simple linen breeches and foustanellas, and carried no weapons. They looked to Grey Worm, who nodded at them, and then they jumped in the waters.

“We should join them,” said Dany, giving Missandei a rather mischievous smile.

Grey Worm looked like he wanted to object, but Dany assured him that they wouldn’t swim out far and the dragons would be right on the beach to keep them safe. Finally he relented. Loyal Sword volunteered to guard the weapons and the rest stripped down to their smallclothes and ran into the water. It was cool and salty as Dany jumped in with Irri. She swam through the waters with her eyes open. The salt burned her eyes a bit, but the fish that swimmed around the rocky shore were spectacular to see - bright yellow and black striped ones, a green fish with a red mouth, a brown one that was half as long as Dany.

When she wasn’t watching the fish, she looked over at Missandei. Even in the water, Grey Worm stayed close to her, ready to fight off any sea creature should threaten his queen. Dany wondered if it was just duty and gratefulness that made him so attentive toward her. He was a hard man to read. He always looked so serious.

“Why are you staring at them?” Irri asked, swimming over to her.

“I was just thinking about something Missandei asked me.”

“What is that?”

Dany tread the water for a moment and then asked, “Do you think the Unsullied feel as other men do about women? Or about men, for that matter?”

“You mean, do they fall in love?”

“Yes.”

Irri looked over at Stalwart Shield, who had climbed up some rocks with Marselen and went diving off of them into the bay.

“Qhono told me that Stalwart Shield visits the brothels sometimes. Qhono was curious why an Unsullied would go, so he asked one of the girls. She said that Stalwart Shield just likes to lay next to her and be held. I think many of the Unsullied want very much to fall in love.”

“I suppose it’s a good time for it. Our battles are over, and now is the time for celebrating and rebuilding,” said Dany.

Irri smiled at her.

Then, there was a great splash behind Dany as Rhaegal dove into the sea, sending up a wave of saltwater over them.

***

Dany was both exhausted and sunburnt after the swim in the ocean. Laeti gave her some cold balm to run on the burns, which made them feel much better. Dany had fallen asleep quickly after that, and she began to dream.

There was a tall, jagged hill covered in snow and ice. Iron caltrops had been strewn around the sides, though they were beginning to become obscured in the snow. Dany supposed that would make them more effective. A low wooden ringwall encircled the top of the hill and within it lay an encampment of men. They wore thick, black cloaks and huddled around fires, shivering in the cold. A group of shaggy little horses huddled together next to the men.

There was a horn blast, then another, and then another. The men leapt to their feet and ran to the ringwall with swords, bows and arrows, and axes. 

Then the dead began to march up the hill, over a thousand of them. They weren’t just dead men and women either. Dany could see all manner of creatures: bears, wolves, and shadowcats. They stepped on the sharp iron caltrops and then stepped off of them as if they hadn’t even noticed the metal piercing their feet. The living men on the hill began to shoot arrows at the dead, but they only managed to temporarily knock them down. One of the living, a big man with grey hair, yelled at them to set the arrows on fire before shooting. They did, and when they hit the corpses with the fire arrows, they went up in flames like dry leaves. But there were still too many of them.

The dead reached the wall and started to climb over, and soon a great mass of them had breached it. They slaughtered the living men before them. It seemed the dead could only be stopped by fire, not steel or iron.

A group of the living grabbed burning logs from their campfires. There were only about fifty of the living still alive, but they held of the dead with the fire and ran out of the ringwall and down the hill. The dead pursued and the living ran.

The dream shifted. It was still the same hill, but the army of the dead was gone and the sky was brighter. A young man with a great white wolf walked up a narrow pathway to the top of the hill, leading an middle aged man in a black and red cloak. They climbed over the wreckage of the ringwall and looked at what had been left atop the hill.

There were no dead bodies of men, but the little horses had been ripped apart and the pieces of them arranged in a large spiral. 

For a moment, Dany saw a man with deathly pale skin and bright blue eyes, and then she awoke, panting and sweating in the bed.

***

Dany told Irri and Jorah about her dream the next morning, while they ate breakfast together in one of the dining halls. The others were still asleep, except Missandei and Grey Worm, who had already left to meet with the council.

“Were they like the dead who chased you in Stygai?” Irri asked.

“They were pale like them, but these ones weren’t hungry. They didn’t want to eat, only to kill. And there was the man with blue eyes. He was not a corpse, but something else.”

Ser Jorah had been quiet as she told them about her dream, but then he looked up at her. 

“An Other,” he said.

“What?”

“That’s what we call the ones with the blue eyes in the North. The Others.”

Irri set down the bread she had been eating. “You know of them?”

“We all thought of them as stories for children, meant to fill them with fear and excitement. But you think they were real?”

“They certainly felt real in my dreams,” said Dany. Then, “What is said about them in the North?”

“The stories about them said they once tried to bring about the Long Night. This was in the days of the First Men, before the Rhoynar and the Andals came to Westeros. It was a period of terrible darkness and cold, when the people thought they had lost the sun altogether. They say the Others were demons who came down from the Lands of Always Winter and slaughtered the First Men. Then the Others would raise the people they just killed, turning them into wights, mindless corpses that did only the Others’ biddings. Their army grew and they marched south. They would have overtaken the entire continent.”

“Why didn’t they?” asked Dany.

“A pact was formed, between the First Men and the Children of the Forest. They fought together and somehow they managed to drive the Others back into the far north. Then they built the Wall, seven hundred feet tall and all made of ice and created the Night’s Watch to guard it.”

“Were those the men I saw?”

“Yes. It seems the Others came for them.” Jorah was quiet for a moment, then he said, “That man you saw. The grey haired one who gave the orders. Can you describe him again?”

Dany did so. He had been big and balding, with an impressive grey beard. He fought well despite his age.

Irri watched Ser Jorah. “Do you know this man?”

“My father,” he said.

“He might have survived,” said Dany quickly. “He led the ones who managed to escape from the hill.”

Jorah nodded, but then he excused himself from the table. He bowed to them and said he had business to attend to. Dany knew he just wanted to be alone.

“Do you think his father survived?” Irri asked, once he had gone.

“No,” said Dany. The wights had been nearly unstoppable and there were so many more of them than there had been men of the Night’s Watch. She doubted any of them survived.

Dany thought back on the details of the dream and shivered a little, as if she could feel the cold and the snow herself, despite where she sat in the warm climate of Astapor.

Stalwart Shield entered then, back in his uniform, but carrying his helmet at his side.

“Mother of Dragons,” he said with a bow.

“What news?”

“Two people have arrived at the harbor and are asking to see you.”

“What people?” Many wanted to see her, wanted to see all the dragonriders. She didn’t see why these might be any different.

“They came on a ship from Westeros. They speak your common tongue.”

Dany frowned. There were plenty of Westerosi sailors and travellers in Esso and many of them came through the Bay of Dragons.

“Do they seem dangerous?” she asked.

Stalwart Shield looked amused. “No, I don’t think you need to worry. A lady in a nice dress and a little man.”

“A little man?” 

Stalwart Shield put his hand about three feet off the ground.

“A dwarf?”

“Yes, dwarf,” he said with a nod.

“Alright, bring them here,” she said.

Dany and Irri left the dining hall and went down to the base of the pyramid to wait outside on the steps for these newcomers. Several of the Unsullied guards stood at attention around them and were soon joined by Dany’s khas, who had finally woken.

Stalwart Shield returned, leading the pair from Westeros. The woman was small and pretty, with dark hair and eyes. She wore a pink silk dress and looked nervously at the Unsullied with their long spears and spiked helms. The man with her was even smaller, though less pretty. He had curly blonde hair, a beard, and a deep scar across his face, running across his nose and over his left eye. Stalwart Shield stood to the side, letting the pair approach Dany up the brick steps.

They both bowed.

“Mother of Dragons, thank you for meeting with us,” said the man.

“And who exactly am I meeting?”

“My companion is Shae of Lorath, and I am Tyrion Lannister.”

Dany took a step forward, as did Rakharo. She narrowed her eyes at the man.

“Lannister,” she said.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You don’t need to call me that.” She walked down to the pair. Up close, she could see the man had one green eye and one black one, and in them both was a mix of some fear and some hope. “Why have you come to Astapor, Tyrion Lannister?”


	21. The Lannister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My computer is fixed! I'll try to get back on the more frequent posting schedule.  
> Dream guide is in the endnotes, explaining some of the book lore.

Along with Robert Baratheon, the Lannister family had haunted Dany’s childhood, coming for her through Viserys’ dark tales. Tywin Lannister, the patriarch of the family, was a cruel and vicious man, who hid his barbarism under a guise of cold logic and a calculating mind. He had ordered the sack on King’s Landing, sent his soldiers into the city to rape and kill. When Gregor Clegane, the mad dog, had murdered little Rhaenys and baby Aegon and raped Elia Martell, it had been Tywin Lannister holding his leash. And it was Tywin’s son, Jaime Lannister, had stabbed her own father in the back.

_ Burn them all _ , her father had said in her vision in Stygai.

Now here was the other son, Tyrion Lannister, standing before her, and he had a very strange story to tell, one of betrayals and murders and unexpected alliances. The young King Joffrey, the usurper’s son, had been murdered at his own wedding, choked to death on poison. Tyrion had been blamed for the crime, put on trial, and found guilty. His brother, Jaime, and a man called Varys had helped Tyrion escape and sail to Essos, but not before Tyrion shot his own father with a crossbow bolt. Dany had to admit that it did give her some vindictive pleasure to know that the great and terrifying Tywin Lannister had died while sitting on the privy. Then in Essos, Tyrion had reunited with his paramour, Shae of Lorath, who had already fled King’s Landing. The two ended up in Pentos, in the manse of Illyrio Mopatis.

“Magister Illyrio,” repeated Dany when Tyrion spoke of him. “And what did you make of him?”

“He is a well-learned man, said to have once been a fine swordsman. I found him to be calculating and cunning, much like Lord Varys,” said Tyrion, choosing his words carefully.

“Yes, he once tried to sell me into marriage when I was thirteen years old.” Dany looked Tyrion over as he tried to respond to that.

“He is trying to do this again,” said Shae, before Tyrion could speak.

Dany turned to the woman. Behind them, she heard Jhogo whisper something to Rakharo, which made him laugh.

“The Mother of Dragons is not for sale,” said Irri.

“But we would like to see what becomes of the man who attempts to do this,” added Rakharo.

Dany smiled back at them both, and then turned to Shae. “What exactly do you mean, he is trying again?” 

“Magister Illyrio claims that you have a living relative, who also survived the rebellion against your family. Your brother’s son, Aegon Targaryen.” She spoke slowly and looked a little nervous.

“My brother’s children were both killed by Gregor Clegane.” Dany had seen it herself in one of her dreams in Asshai. A baby with violet eyes crushed by the Mountain.

“Illyrio told us that he and Lord Varys smuggled Aegon from the city before the siege and put another in his place,” said Tyrion.

_ That is a lie, a deception _ , thought Dany.

She said nothing, so Tyrion continued, “We met the boy on a ship. He’s been living in Essos, as well, raised by a knight named Jon Connington. He looks to be the right age. He has the Targaryen appearance, like you. But who can say if he truly is  _ the _ Aegon Targaryen.”

“He is not,” said Dany.

Tyrion looked at her. “Either way, Illyrio has the idea to marry you two and to restore the Targaryen dynasty in Westeros.”

“And you agree? Is that why you are here?”

“Well, I don’t much care who or even if you marry. The truth is, my nephew currently sits on the Iron Throne, a sweet boy of ten. It is his mother, my sister Cersei, who rules, though. She is as cruel as our father and thrice as impulsive. She has tried to kill me on more than one occasion, and what is worse, she has tried to kill Shae, and she has tortured an innocent young girl to whom I was married for a time. But that is another story. I loathe my sister and she loathes me. I would like to see her reign come to a swift end and I will support whoever I need to in order to see that happen.”

“So, that is why you come to me? You want me to dethrone your sister?”

“You may kill her, as well, if you like.”

“What reason would I have to do so?”

Tyrion looked confused by her reaction. “The Iron Throne is your birthright. And Cersei is keeping you from it.”

Ser Jorah had said the same thing to Dany, but it was the dragons that were her real birthright.

“According to your story, it belongs to this nephew of mine, this Aegon,” said Dany, “Even if it were mine, why would I want it? I have seen the Iron Throne. I have seen how my father sat upon it. You think I want to sail across the Narrow Sea and start a war, just so I can sit on the ugliest and most uncomfortable chair in the world and attend council meetings with the most boring men in the world? I am sorry you have travelled so far for nothing, Tyrion Lannister. You both are welcome to stay in the fine city of Astapor and enjoy her many diversions. Or you may return to this Aegon Targaryen and support him, but I am afraid I can offer no aid to your vendetta.”

Dany turned away and walked back up the steps, taking Irri’s arm as she went, and going back inside the pyramid.

***

Tyrion Lannister and Shae of Lorath did stay in Astapor, ostensibly holding onto some narrow hope that Dany would change her mind. They rented one of the newly restored houses that had been damaged in the brief siege of Astapor by Yunkai and Meereen. Councilmember Zotta and his team of builders had reconstructed many of the houses along the seafront that had been struck by the catapult artillery, as well as continuing their restoration project in the eastern part of town. The house that Tyrion and Shae rented was close to Missandei’s step pyramid and so Dany saw the both of them often in the markets and at the frequent parties. Missandei and the council had taken to organizing many festivals, trying to unite some of the old Ghiscari traditions - the music and the food especially - with the new leadership, and so Dany would find herself sitting next to the pair while watching a performance of dancers or sharing dinner with them at one of the outdoor food carts. Tyrion no longer pressed her to overthrow his sister, though Dany could tell it lingered on his mind. He carried a lot of anger inside of him, hidden behind his jokes and witticisms. Dany enjoyed their company, though. Shae was poorly educated, but very intelligent and fiercely protective of her friends, and Tyrion was clever and had read a great deal about the history of dragons, more than even Dany knew. The first time he saw a dragon fly overhead, his jaw nearly dropped to the ground in awe.

As well as the arrival of Shae and Tyrion, there was a departure, as well. The Dothraki were finally leaving the city. Drogo joked that his people had spent over half of their gold in Astapor and if they stayed much longer, his wealthy khalasar would soon be bereft of all their coin. Really, though, it was simply time for them to return to the great grass sea and their nomadic way of life. Missandei wanted to give them a proper farewell, and so she hosted a party in her step pyramid.

It was quite a splendid affair. Khal Drogo wore his finest painted leathers and Laeti a loosely fitted silk gown that flowed around her like water. The Council of Astapor came, wearing silk tokars fringed with tassels, except for Ser Barristan, who had a Westerosi style doublet with three stalks of wheat embroidered on the front. As a member of the kingsguard in Westeros, Ser Barristan had given up his family ties, but as a member of Missandei’s Council, he could once again wear the sigil of House Selmy. Ser Jorah was dressed similarly with the black bear of the Mormonts rearing up on his green tunic. The Unsullied who were not on guard duty still wore their uniforms, but had left their helmets and weapons in their rooms.

Dany enjoyed seeing all the fine and colorful clothing, but none took her breath away quite so much as Irri. Missandei and Irri had gone off together to prepare, leaving Dany and Jhiqui to help each other get dressed, so Dany did not see Irri until she came downstairs from the upper suites and into the great hall where the party was being held. She always looked stunning in her simple leather vest and pants, but tonight she came down in a long lilac-colored gown, and Dany forgot what she had been saying to Ser Barristan in the middle of her sentence. He seemed to understand, though, and went to talk to Jorah, while Dany went up to Irri.

“You look…” she couldn’t even think of what to say.

Irri laughed. “So do you.”

Dany felt a bit underdressed in simple black trousers and purple silk shirt, but Irri didn’t think so.

A band started to play an old Ghiscari melody. The Astapori freeborn and freedmen who knew it began a slow dance around the hall, and soon enough the Dothraki and the other guests began to join them. Some of the Unsullied were even pulled into the dance. As graceful as they were on the battlefield, dancing did not come naturally for them, but it was good to see them smiling and laughing as they stumbled over their partners’ feet.

Dany danced the first song with Irri, then Aggo, Laeti, Ser Jorah, and Irri again. The Ghiscari dances were repetitive enough that she could mimic the movements well enough by watching the more experienced dancers. 

After several songs, Dany and Irri took a break and went out on the balcony to sit with Tyrion and Shae. Tables of wine and other drinks had been set up outside, and the balcony gardens were quickly becoming crowded as the guests moved out to drink and sit in the cooler air. 

Sycorax flew overhead as they talked, circling the pyramid upward and finally landing on the uppermost balcony, where the dragons usually slept.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like to ride one,” said Tyrion. “You know, when I was a young boy I used to beg my uncles for a dragon as a nameday present. I didn’t understand at the time that all the dragons were gone, and of course, could never be given as a gift in such a way. Still, I dreamed of them. It is the most extraordinary thing to see them once again in the world.”

“It must be quite scary to ride them. How do you keep from falling?” asked Shae.

“They have spines that run all the way down their neck. I usually hold onto them,” said Dany. She looked at Irri, who said she did the same. “Sometimes when Sycorax dives or changes direction too quickly, though, my legs will slip a little. That can be...disconcerting.”

Shae shook her head, as if Dany and Irri were mad for even attempting such a thing. Tyrion frowned, though, thinking hard about something.

“The Targaryens used to make lightweight leather saddles for their dragons. Grand Maester Munkun, in his history of the Dance of the Dragons, drew a diagram for them. I’m sure I could remember the details. Let me design some for you,” said Tyrion.

Dany thought about it. It would be nice not to have to hold so tight to the spines while they flew. And it would give Sycorax more freedom to move, without worrying about Dany falling from her back.

“Alright, design us some saddles and I’ll take you for a ride on a dragons,” said Dany.

Tyrion tried to stay composed, but he couldn’t stop the wide smile that broke out on his face.

“You are welcome to a ride, as well, Shae.”

“I would rather eat a rat, but thank you,” said Shae, shaking her head again.

“Can you make the saddles so they can grow with the dragons? Viserion seems bigger each week and Rhaegal is growing so fast now that he is out of that pit. I don’t think they will ever catch up to Sycorax, though,” said Irri.

“I can do that. If I remember correctly, the seat of the saddles was separate from the straps around the dragons, so the straps could be replaced from time to time with larger ones. I should find some parchment. I can begin to draw it out for you.” Tyrion stood but Shae pulled him back.

“After the party, my love. There is time,” she said.

Tyrion looked at the wine glass in his hand and let himself relax into her arms.

“Of course,” he said with a chuckle.

Irri and Dany returned inside and found Grey Worm watching as Missandei danced with Ser Barristan. Dany nudged Irri, who rolled her eyes a bit, but she followed Dany over to him.

“Missandei looks so lovely tonight,” said Dany to Grey Worm. He was standing straight as a rod with his hands clasped behind his back, as if he were one of the ones on guard duty.

“Missandei always look lovely,” he said. Missandei had been teaching him the common tongue, and he was learning it quickly, speaking it with a thick Ghiscari accent.

“She does. You should ask her for the next dance.”

He frowned, looking confused. “I am bad dancer,” he said.

“I’m sure she will not mind. You are the leader of all her Unsullied guard. You should dance with her at least once.”

He looked a little unsure, but when the song ended he walked over to Missandei and stiffly asked her to dance. Dany smiled, but Irri shook her head a little.

“What are you a matchmaker now?” she asked.

Dany laughed and asked, “You don’t approve?”

“I think they will find each other on their own if you let them.”

“I am just helping them ‘find’ each other a little more quickly.”

“What will you do next? Stab Grey Worm, so they can bond over his sickbed?”

Dany thought Irri was being overly dramatic. Grey Worm was not a good dancer, at all, but Missandei was smiling at him anyway. 

“Fine, fine,” said Irri, watching them. “Just don’t try to start finding wives for Rakharo or Aggo, or a husband for Jhiqui.”

Dany promised, though secretly she thought that Rakharo and Jhiqui would make a good pair, and she suspected Aggo was uninterested in getting a wife.

The night grew late and over the hours Dany and Irri became a little drunk, and then, as that wore off, they became very tired. Drogo had one final announcement before the guests left the party, which revealed another reason for the Dothraki’s departure. It seemed that he and Laeti were expecting a baby and so it was time for them to ride to Vaes Dothrak to get the blessing from the Dosh Khaleen.

Dany and Irri went up to congratulate the two of them. Dany remembered Drogo saying he could think of no better children to have than the dragons, but looking at him, he seemed fiercely proud of this human baby to be. 

“A thousand blessings,” said Irri, kissing Laeti on the cheek. “May the child be as strong as its father and as clever as its mother.”

Laeti smiled and said, “She will be.”

They said their goodbyes and then they stumbled up to their rooms to sleep.

***

Even after such a lovely night, Dany had unsettling dreams once again. She didn’t understand what was causing her nightmares. She had a happy life in Astapor and a purpose, helping Missandei to build and protect the city as a refuge for freed slaves and other lost souls. Still, her dreams were violent and full of sorrow, as they had been when Jorah and Dany rode across the Dothraki Sea after Asshai. Those dreams had stopped when Dany reunited with Irri and the khalasar, and when they had liberated Slaver’s Bay, but now they had returned, worse than ever.

In her dreams, Dany saw a little girl with half her face covered in grey, dragged down into deep dark waters by a strange creature. He looked like a god or a monster, scaled and finned like a fish, with the shape of man, beautiful and terrible all at once. 

She saw a woman with a monkey’s tail, standing in a dark city. There were strange beings all around her: a man with the horns and snout of a bull, scaled humans with webbed hands, gaunt and bloodless children, and people with leathery wings. The woman turned to the people behind her and then led them across a cold and shadowy desert. She found the sun hiding behind the desert mountains and with her strange band of followers, she lifted the sun back into the sky, though she was burned to ash in the process. Dany could feel the heat of the sun consuming her own skin and licking at her bones.

Then the fire she felt turned to ice. Dany stood on a cold, rocky beach and watched as the waters before her solidified into ice and the waves became still, like frozen mountains. Twelve pale riders on dead horses followed an army of corpses over the sea. They passed beneath a bronze statue of a warrior and then turned to attack the islands behind it.

A pale man with bright blue eyes put his cold hand on Dany’s chest and she felt her heart freeze, her blood turn to ice, and her rib cage shatter within her. There was a taste like some bitter sort of oil in her mouth. The pale man kissed her and gave her a dead horse to ride.

She woke up in an icy terror, still feeling the pale man’s cold lips on hers. Irri woke, too, and held her and rubbed Dany’s arms until warmth once again returned to them.

***

The khalasar rode away the next morning, and Dany and Irri watched them from the walls of Astapor. Many of the Astapori children, especially those who had originally come from Yunkai and Meereen sat atop the walls, too, and waved goodbye to the Dothraki riders. Some of the children were Dothraki themselves, but had been sold away to slavery. The stolen children, Laeti had called them. A few of them had been adopted back into the khalasar, but most remained in Astapor, in the orphanages or with their new families if they were lucky enough to have them.

Rakharo, Aggo, Jhogo, and Jhiqui stayed behind with Dany and Irri, but Dany was surprised they were not the only ones. Ko Qhono, one of the younger and new kos, also remained with one hundred of his warriors and their families. With Drogo’s blessing, Qhono wanted to stay and protect Irri, or the Dragon Khaleesi, as he called her. Irri looked quite stunned by this, but then she gratefully accepted her new little khalasar. Qhono and the other Dothraki sat on horseback just under the wall to watch Drogo’s khalasar leave, and then they turned their horses back through the gates and into Astapor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream guide  
> -The girl with a grey face is Shireen, being taken by the Deep Ones (creepy fish people who are mentioned in the books)  
> -The woman with the monkey tail is one of the many version of the hero who ended evil (other examples include Azor Ahai, the Last Hero, and many others). Almost every culture in Westeros and Essos have a version of the hero. The monkey tailed woman is the version from YiTi.  
> -Dany sees the Others crossing the Narrow Sea and attacking Braavos.  
> -The first Other attacks her.


	22. Unrest

Life went on in Astapor.

Dany and Irri sat in on the council meetings with Missandei, Grey Worm, and Ser Barristan. They listened to the discussions of tax policy, on trade, on alliances, and on building and rebuilding infrastructure. It was terribly boring, if Dany was honest, but the freedmen in Astapor deserved a peaceful and well-run city, and Dany wanted to do her part to give it to them. She wanted to show them - show the world - that she was more than just a conqueror.

She told Irri that one day and Irri scoffed a little.

“You are not just a conqueror. If you believe that then you are a fool.”

“I wonder which is better, the conqueror or the fool,” said Dany.

Irri shook her head. “The Dothraki and the Unsullied would never have united if not for you. You bring people together, people who would never be allies in any other lifetime.”

Dany grinned at the flattery. “If you say so, Khaleesi,” she said to Irri.

While Dany and Irri sat through the council meetings, Ser Jorah and the Dothraki began to teach the Unsullied to ride horses. The Unsullied were unparalleled infantry, but had never trained in horsemanship. Some nights, Dany would walk through the lower levels of the step pyramid and see them comparing the bruises they got from falling off the horses that day.

Tyrion designed the saddles for the dragons and they took the designs to the finest leathersmiths in the city. Dany stood in front of Sycorax, petting the dragon’s head and speaking calming words to her, while the leathersmiths took careful measurements around her neck and waist and down her back. They did the same for Viserion and Rhaegal. 

Three weeks later, they had finished the first saddle. It was light enough that it only took two people to carry it and set it on Sycorax’s back, just between the dragon’s shoulder blades. The seat itself was flat, so that Dany could either sit upright or lay down flat against Sycorax. The stirrups on either side contained ties running down them that could be fastened around her legs to hold her in place. The saddle was thickest at the front, where Dany would sit, but behind her there was room for two or three other riders and extra stirrups that could be buckled on for them, as well. Rakharo and Dany carried the saddle up onto Sycorax the first time and then worked with Stalwart Shield and the chief leathersmith to secure the saddle with the wide leather straps. The straps ran around Sycorax’s neck and her waist and locked onto the saddle with steel chains that had been wrapped in sheepskin to keep them from rubbing at her scales. Once the saddle was fastened and tightened in place, Dany backed away to look at it.

Tyrion walked around Sycorax, inspecting the saddle from every angle.

“Nothing blocking her wings, everything looks secure. Maybe we should have her fly once without a rider to test it,” he said.

Dany told Sycorax to do so and the dragon took flight, doing a short loop around Missandei’s pyramid before landing once again in front of it. The saddle was still in place and she looked comfortable wearing it.

“Ready?” asked Dany.

Tyrion looked a little nervous all of a sudden, but he nodded. Dany helped him climb up Sycorax’s back. She sat in the front and he was just behind her, and they both pulled the stirrup straps tight around their legs.

“You know, perhaps we should have a drink first,” said Tyrion.

Dany shook her head and nudged Sycorax, who ran forward and leapt up, rising up past the top of the step pyramid. She tilted her wings and made a wide arc around the city. After flying for a few minutes, Sycorax spun herself upside down in midair and then rolled back upright, a move she had never been able to do when Dany was merely holding onto her spines. Tyrion yelped when she did so, but his saddle held them in place. They soared for awhile, and then Sycorax dropped back down to the brick walkway in front of the pyramid.

Shae was covering her face, and Jhiqui was holding her. When they landed safely, Shae looked up and hugged Tyrion once he had climbed down.

“Thank you,” said Tyrion, looking back at Dany. “I- thank you.” He was, for once, at a loss for words.

***

The Sons of the Harpy had been relatively quiet since the Dothraki left. The Unsullied and the Brazen Beasts had managed to catch several of them, and Dany naively thought the others would end their rebellion because of it. It was not so. It soon became apparent that the Sons’ period of inactivity was really just them watching and waiting for their next strike.

Two of the Sons, dressed in robes and harpy masks, came at night and painted a message on the inner side of Astapor’s surrounding wall, just a few blocks away from Missandei’s step period. The message was written in red paint and said, “Kill the Slave Queen, Raise the Masters.” A witness had seen them and ran to get the Brazen Beasts, who pursued the Sons of the Harpy. But the Sons led them into an ambush. The Unsullied found the ten Brazen Beasts the following morning, stabbed to death and bleeding in an alleyway.

The Council was in an uproar after the murders. Grey Worm wanted to double the guard around Missandei. Mora Rotharys, a freedman who advised on security matters, wanted to torture the Sons they had previously imprisoned for more information. Ser Barristan and Baran both opposed this. Zotta wanted to make each of the remaining noble families give up a relative as a hostage, until the Sons of the Harpy ended their rebellion. It was Missandei and the Unsullied officer, Cetherys, however, who came up with a plan.

Cetherys had been born a slave in Volantis before he was sold to Astapor to become an Unsullied. Fortunately, he was young enough when he was sold that he never received a slave tattoo from Volantis. He spoke Ghiscari well and had their look. Cetherys knew of a man, a freeborn baker, who was sympathetic to the Sons of the Harpy. His plan was to threaten the man with imprisonment or execution and use him to infiltrate the Sons, posing himself as a low status freeborn man who had travelled from Yunkai. Ser Barristan was a little wary of the dangers of the plan, of Cetherys doing this mission alone, but in the end, the Council supported it.

Cetherys joined the Sons of the Harpy, and a week later they found his body hanging from a tree in one of the public gardens.

Dany found Missandei sitting on the balcony, glaring out at the skyline. Rhaegal lay next to her, almost too large to fit with how much he had grown. Dany put a hand on Missandei’s shoulder.

“I never should have let him go,” Missandei said.

“Cethrys knew the danger. He chose to go anyway. He was very brave. And we will catch the ones who did this to him.”

“That noose was meant for me.”

“Don’t say that,” said Dany. Cetherys’ death was terrible enough. She didn’t want to even consider the same happening to Missandei.

“It is true. They want me dead more than anything. I’m the Slave Queen.”

Dany stood and walked around to stand in front of Missandei.

“You’re the queen,” she said. “They want to kill you because you frighten them. But they are little men with terrible ideas. We will catch them.”

“How?” asked Missandei, looking up at her.

Dany didn’t have an answer just yet, so she shook her head. An answer did come to her soon enough from Tyrion Lannister of all people. Dany went to his house one afternoon to have tea with him and Shae, and to swap stories of dragons, as they often did. She found herself talking about the death of Cetherys, which both Tyrion and Shae had heard about. It was, apparently, the main topic of conversation running through the city that week.

“The question is, did the Sons kill him because he did a poor job imitating them, or did someone inform them?” asked Tyrion.

“We do not know that yet,” said Dany.

“If it is the first than there is little that can be done. If it is the latter, however… This baker you spoke of. He seems a likely man to inform the Sons.”

“It wasn’t the baker,” said Shae.

“How do you know?” he asked her. Shae shrugged.

“No, she’s right. It wasn’t the baker,” said Dany. At Tyrion’s curious look, she added, “Men tend to be astonishingly honest when they come face to face with a dragon who is about to eat them. We questioned the baker. It wasn’t him.”

Tyrion’s eyebrows were raised. “And...the baker?” he asked.

Dany laughed at his expression. “I didn’t actually feed him to Sycorax.”

Shae had a smug look on her face at being right about the baker, but Tyrion shook his head and told her it was a lucky guess.

He thought about it for a moment. “The Council, then?”

“The Council is loyal to Missandei.”

“All people can be corrupted,” he said.

Tyrion then told her the story of how he had rooted out one of his sister’s spies by telling each of his suspects a different lie and seeing which one his sister found out about. 

“It could work in your favor,” he said with a shrug.

***

Irri and Missandei both helped Dany spread the lies, or rather the different versions of the same lie. Each one involved an informant who claimed to have knowledge on the leader of the Sons of the Harpy. Dany told Ser Barristan that the informant was a beggar woman in the eastern neighborhoods, who had witnessed one of the Son’s meetings. Irri told Baran that it was a freeborn man who worked on the docks. Missandei told Zotta it was a nobleman who lived in a manse with his family. She told Mora Rotharys that the Brazen Beasts were holding the informant in a house in the south part of town. And so on. Each council member heard a different tale, and then they waited.

The Sons of the Harpy attacked the southern house. Instead of only a few Brazen Beasts, however, they found nearly a hundred Unsullied waiting for them. The Sons tried to fight, but most of them were killed and a much smaller number arrested. Missandei had Mora Rotharys dragged away to the dungeons. Dany wanted to just feed him to the dragons and be done with it, but Missandei insisted on giving the traitor a fair trial.

“It seems I am in need of a new security advisor,” Missandei told Dany, later that night as they say together in one of Missandei’s rooms. She was angry after the betrayal, though not nearly as angry as Dany would have been in the same position.

“Why would a former slave support the Sons of the Harpy?” Dany asked.

Missandei thought about it. “Some people just want others to look down on. If they climb the steps to wealth and power, then they don’t care if who they leave behind, or who they step on.”

“Did he not have some wealth and power on your council?”

Missandei shrugged. “I suppose the Sons offered him more.”

“A lot of good that did him,” said Dany with a slight smile. Laeti had been right about her. Dany did have a good heart and a vengeful nature. But the world was full of powerful, hungry people who fed on the weak and kept them down in the dirt. And Dany had no qualms whatsoever about knocking those powerful, hungry people right off of their seats of power.

***

Cetherys’ death and Mora Rotharys’ betrayal were terrible, but they were, in a way, a distraction for Dany. And without the distraction, it seemed as if her dreams were only growing worse. 

At night, she would see the world covered in ice and fire, all life frozen or burnt away from it: the jungles of Sothoryos gone, the plains of the Jogos Nhai empty, and the cities of Yi Ti fallen. 

The Others were coming. She saw them every night, pale and unearthly and surrounded by death. They waited behind a massive Wall, biding their time, building their strength, until at last the Wall crumbled away. The marched through the land and left nothing alive after them, not the people or the hares or even the grass, nothing except ghostly white trees with red leaves. When the land was conquered, they turned to the sea and froze it solid beneath their feet.

The Others were coming.

***

Dany spoke to Jorah about it at first. As he was from the North, he knew the most about the Others, though he wasn’t sure how much of the stories he had learned as a child were true. Still, he told her all he could remember of the Long Night, the Last Hero, and the pact with the Children of the Forest.

“I would be careful to trust in such visions and dreams,” he said, when he had finished with his stories.

He had a point. The last time Dany had followed one of her dreams, it had led her to Stygai, and that had turned out rather horrifically. She still had a few scars on her body from where Nhehrai had cut the bloodwyrms out of her skin.

Still, the visions nagged at her and kept her from sleeping. She saw the Others in her dreams and thought about them long after she had woken. She told herself that prophecies often did not come true. She told herself that when they did, it was usually in some unforeseen and unwanted way. She told herself that these monsters were a sea and a continent away. But she didn’t stop dreaming of them and she couldn’t stop feeling that her dreams were real.

The others noticed the dark circles under her eyes and her clouded mind. Finally, Jorah came to her.

“Some traders came though the harbor today, from Westeros,” he said. “They spoke of no invasion by the dead, only of the wars between the Lannisters and the rebels. Westeros is a damaged land, but not a cursed one.”

Dany nodded, thinking about that. She felt so tired.

“However, I think it might...put your mind at ease to see for yourself,” he said.

“See for myself?”

“I think you should sail to Westeros and see for yourself the state of things. At the least it might quell your nightmares.”

Despite Tyrion’s suggestions that she take the Iron Throne, Dany had never thought much of even travelling to Westeros. That had been Viserys’ dream, not hers.

“I have a suspicion that Queen Cersei will not welcome me into her kingdom with open arms,” said Dany.

“And that is why you should not go alone.”

Dany looked at Jorah and then out across the city of Astapor.

“Alright,” she said.

***

It was hard to say goodbye to Astapor and harder still to say goodbye to Missandei and Rhaegal, even if they all knew it was a temporary separation. Missandei had her council, Grey Worm, Ser Barristan, the Unsullied, and the Brazen Beasts all to help her, and Dany knew she would continue to rule with grace and compassion.

“If all goes well, we’ll reach Westeros and find that the Others are just stories told to scare children. There will be absolutely nothing to worry about and then we’ll sail home and be back in Astapor in a few months time,” said Dany.

“Westeros is a war torn place. You must take some Unsullied with you. Stalwart Shield has already volunteered to bring a thousand with you.”

“You need the Unsullied here. It will make me feel better knowing they are here - and Rhaegal, too - to protect this city.”

“A hundred, then. At least except that,” said Missandei.

Dany did. 

The warriors of Irri’s khalasar came, as well, though their wives and children stayed in Astapor, where it was safer. Rakharo tried to convince Jhiqui to stay with them, but she waved away his words and climbed onto one of the three ships they would sail across the Narrow Sea.

The last to join them were Tyrion and Shae.

“You know I’m not going there to kill your sister,” Dany told him.

“I know, but things do happen. Besides, we’ve spent all of the money Illyrio gave us, so what else are we to do?”

Dany stood to the side and let them board the ship.

Viserion and Sycorax took flight above them. They could still fit on a ship’s deck, though just barely, and it was uncomfortable for them and the crew trying to work around them. They were stronger now than they had ever been, though, and they could soar for hours, if not days, without stopping.

The ships pulled away from the harbor and the city of Astapor grew smaller and eventually sunk below the curve of the sea. Dany leaned against the rail, looking back in the direction they had come. 

“Why refuse the thousand Unsullied?” Jorah asked, coming over to stand next to her.

“They are more needed in Astapor. That city gives me something to fight for, and something to come home to.”

“If you are right about the Others, we could be facing a brutal war. A thousand Unsullied would prove very useful. Even if you’re wrong and the Others don’t exist, there is a real chance Cersei will try to kill you.”

“Yes, and I will think of the Unsullied who protect Astapor and all its people when I burn the Others to dust and defeat Cersei’s armies. I need Astapor to stand strong until I return.”

“I think seven thousand Unsullied and a dragon could defend Astapor just as well as seven thousand and nine hundred Unsullied and a dragon.”

Dany shook her head at him. The Unsullied were needed in Astapor. She only brought the one hundred because Missandei had insisted. Still, the disciplined soldiers fared better on the ships than the Dothraki, who were seasick and nervous of the sea. They were resolute in following Irri and Dany, though, and the journey at least would not be a terribly long one, less than a month really. Dany told Qhono this and he looked as if she had slapped him.

“A month,” he repeated, looking sadly out at the rocking waves.

***

They sailed around the ruined land that had once been Old Valyria, and the dragons cried and shrieked as they caught sight of the still smoking land. They landed on the ships and did not take flight again until the Valyrian ruins were far behind them. The ships passed between the island of Lys and Dorne, and moved up into the Narrow Sea. They curved around a peninsula and in the distance, Jorah pointed out the volcanic island of Dragonstone, where Dany had been born. She couldn’t see much behind the fog and smoke, other than the high peak of a mountain.

Sycorax landed on the deck and they carried her saddle onto her. Dany climbed on, fitting her legs into the straps.

“You should let me come with you,” said Jorah once again.

“You are still a wanted man in Westeros. They will try to behead you if you come. I have Sycorax. She’ll keep me safe. And Viserion will keep all of you safe. 

Irri looked just as put out as Jorah at being left behind. Dany was flying into a foreign city on a dragon, which would already seem like an act of aggression. She didn’t want to bring an entire army with her. Before Irri or Jorah could argue further, Sycorax shook out her wings and jumped from the ship, and as they flew over the Blackwater Bay, a tall red castle came into view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, Westeros, here she comes!


	23. King's Landing

Cersei sat in a chair next to the Iron Throne, listening to the High Sparrow preach some nonsense at Tommen. He was a miserable old man, the High Sparrow, and she would someday make him regret forcing her to perform the walk of atonement through the city. Unfortunately, for now, he had grown too powerful for her to defy him openly. And with her uncle, Kevan Lannister, recently murdered, Cersei was finding her own position more and more precarious. Still, she would change that soon enough. She looked over at Maester Qyburn and the new knight of the kingsguard, Robert Strong, and smiled at them both.

Ser Strong was an unusual man. He stood nearly eight feet tall, and was muscular and broad-shouldered, as well. He made the other kingsguard uneasy, and they said that they never saw him eat, drink, or even use the privy. He never removed his helm and never spoke, having taken a vow of silence. He did, however, share an uncanny resemblance to the late Ser Gregor Clegane, who of course had died fighting Oberyn Martell.

Cersei looked back at Tommen, who sat on a cushion on the Iron Throne. After Joffrey’s death, the throne itself had frightened Tommen, with all those sharp swords sticking out. Still, Cersei thought that someday, when he was finally a man grown, he might even start to look regal upon it.

“Your Grace, this Targaryen boy poses a threat, not only to your rule, but to the very Faith of the Seven. The Targaryens may have claimed to live in the Light of the Seven, but they participated in most unholy and sinful acts, marrying brother to sister, burning their dead, burning the living. This proclaiment, this Aegon, may indeed be Rhaegar’s son. But the Seven Kingdoms at last has a decent ruler, a faithful ruler, and we must not let anything threaten that. I must urge you to send the Tyrell forces from King’s Landing to the Stormlands to counter Aegon’s own army of sellswords,” said the High Sparrow.

“Now, see here!” shouted Mace Tyrell. After Margaery’s arrest by the Faith Militant, he had brought his entire army to King’s Landing. The Faith had relented and released Margaery into the custody of Randyll Tarly, a loyal Tyrell bannerman, but until her trial, Mace was determined to keep his forces in the city, and he didn’t like hearing the High Sparrow suggest otherwise.

Whatever else Mace was going to say, however, was interrupted by screams from outside. The entire court in the throne room froze, as the screaming grew louder and more urgent.

“Protect your king!” Cersei shouted at the kingsguard.

Ser Meryn Trant ran forward and grabbed Tommen off the throne, pulling him out of the throne room and deeper into the Red Keep. Ser Boros Blount and Ser Balon Swann followed, but Ser Strong remained with Cersei. The High Sparrow walked calmly for the doors out of the throne and into the courtyard, followed by an agitated Mace Tyrell and several other members of the court. Cersei went out with Qyburn and Ser Strong flanking her.

Gold cloaks were running into the Red Keep and up onto the walls, along with the personal Lannister guards. Outside the walls of the fortress, they could hear the screaming.

Cersei felt the shadow pass over her before she saw it. She looked up and saw a scaled belly and wide leathery wings. It was huge - a black dragon at least a hundred feet long from nose to tail. It passed right over them and then circled and landed on one of the walls, looking down at the courtyard. There was a rider on its back, a girl with silver hair. A Targaryen. 

Many of the members of the court screamed and ran back inside the Keep, but Cersei held her ground, as did the High Sparrow. Her father had dismissed Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons as only a weak threat to the crown. Before he died, he had called the dragons mere “curios” on the other side of the world. This was no stunted and small dragon, however. This beast could grow to the size of Balerion the Black Dread. They should have killed the Targaryen girl and her dragons while they were still young. Now the Lannisters would have to face the consequences of leaving an enemy alive.

With the courtyard mostly empty, the dragon jumped from the wall and landed on the ground, heavy enough to crack some of the stones. The gold cloaks and guards ran between Cersei and the dragon, lowering their spears at it.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the Targaryen girl said.

Some of the guards hesitated and looked back at Cersei.

“I have told Sycorax not to attack the city or any of its residents, but if you throw a spear at her, I cannot promise she will continue to listen to me,” said the girl.

The guards kept their blades aimed at the dragon, but did not attack. The girl looked them over and then her eyes moved over to Cersei.

“Queen Cersei, I apologize for frightening you and your men. I only wish to speak with you,” she said.

 _Insolent girl_ , thought Cersei. As if this child could frighten her.

“Come down off your dragon, and we may talk in the gardens,” said Cersei, turning back to the Keep. She forced herself not to look back at the monstrous beast behind her. 

***

The gardens of the Red Keep were bright and beautiful and smelled of flowers, in high contrast to the city that Dany had flown over, which looked crowded and dirty and smelled of human waste. It would be easy enough for the castle residents to forget the human misery and poverty that lived all around them while they sat in such a lovely place.

Sycorax passed overhead, flying in tight circles, as Dany sat with Queen Cersei out in the gardens. Tyrion had described his sister as vain, cruel, and often reckless, so Dany wanted to continually remind her of the dragon’s presence. 

The young King Tommen did not join them, but they sat at a table with some of the Lords and Ladies of Westeros: Randyll Tarly, a wiry man with a stern face, Mace Tyrell, who served as the Hand of the King, and Mace’s daughter, Margaery Tyrell - who was ostensibly under arrest, though it was the most comfortable arrest that Dany had ever seen. There was also the High Septon, more commonly called the High Sparrow for some reason, an old man who dressed in rags and wore no shoes on his dirty feet. He had a deep frown on his face as he looked at Dany, and especially as he looked at the tattoos on her right arm. Behind Queen Cersei stood a huge knight in a white cloak, who said nothing at all and had not been introduced to Dany.

“She is quite extraordinary,” said Mace Tyrell, watching as Sycorax soared on the thermals of air above them.

Cersei glared at him, a sour expression on her face, and so did the High Sparrow, but Mace did not notice, too busy looking up.

“Why have you come here?” asked Cersei sharply.

“You don’t need to worry, Your Grace. I’m not here for your son’s throne. I am merely an avid traveller. I have seen so much of the east, and now wish to explore the western continent,” said Dany.

Margaery Tyrell leaned forward, resting her cheek on one hand, and asked, “Did you really free every slave in eastern Essos?”

“If only. No, but I did aid in the liberation of the Bay of Dragons, once called Slaver’s Bay. Perhaps someday, I will continue that work in Volantis, Tyrosh, and the rest of the slave-owning Free Cities.”

Margaery smiled. She was quite a stunning young woman, and she looked at Dany so intensely. Dany would never stray from Irri, of course, but she could still admire Margaery, and she did. 

“There are a great many rumors about you here. They also say you burned the city of Meereen to the ground and bathed in the blood of its maidens to maintain your youth and beauty,” said Cersei.

Dany laughed. “I’m afraid the city of Meereen still stands tall, though the Great Masters are fewer in number than they once were. And my youth and beauty exists because I am in fact very young and quite beautiful.”

Cersei didn’t look amused, but Margaery laughed at Dany’s words.

“Those markings on you, they are the workings of blood magic,” said the High Sparrow, nodding his head to her arm.

“That’s right. A shadowbinder from Asshai gave them to me.”

“Sinful place, full of heretics,” he muttered.

A servant came out and set down a plate of lemon cakes and tea. Mace took a cake and Margaery a tea, but the others touched nothing. Dany reached forward and grabbed a tea, as well, stirring in some honey before taking a sip.

“You know, High Septon, you have more in common with the worshippers of R’hllor than you might think,” she said. “The red priests and priestesses also believe all other religions to be heretical and wrong.”

The Septon merely frowned at her.

Randyll Tarly had yet to say much. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his fingers before him, and observed them all in silence.

“Will you tell us about the other places you have travelled? I only know of Essos from books,” said Margaery.

Dany told her about Asshai and even a little of Stygai. She described the Dothraki Sea when the flowers were in bloom and the coastline she had seen of Yi Ti. The High Sparrow would periodically huff or shake his head, but he spoke no more of heresy.

“And you really spent a year with the barbarian hordes?” asked Mace, looking a mix of delighted and scandalized.

“The Dothraki are not so barbaric. In fact, I found them infinitely better company than many of the Magisters of Pentos or the Masters of old Slaver’s Bay.”

“Fascinating,” said Mace, shaking his head. He was a bit of a doddering old fool, but good natured and certainly better to talk to than Cersei or the High Sparrow.

“Where are the rest of your dragons? I heard you had three,” asked Cersei, after a time. She seemed to have grown tired of discussing Essos.

“One is in Astapor, guarding the city and its queen. The other is on a ship in the Blackwater Bay with my companion, Irri.”

“Do you intend to give one to your nephew, this...Aegon?” Cersei said the word ‘Aegon’ as if it was a bitter taste on her tongue.

“What reason would I have to do so?”

“He is your family. Are you not allies? Is that not why you have come, to view our defenses and report them back to him?”

“I have never even met him. Besides, I couldn’t give him a dragon if I wanted to. They have all chosen their riders, and I have no more dragon eggs to hatch.

Cersei crossed her arms, thinking that over.

“Do you believe him? Is he really your nephew?” she asked, her voice a little softer.

“I believe my nephew was murdered by Ser Gregor Clegane when he was a baby,” said Dany.

The big knight behind Cersei twitched, but did nothing else. Both Mace and Randyll Tarly looked up at him for a moment.

“True Targaryen or not, this boy is making a mess of the Stormlands,” said Randyll.

“He must be stopped,” agreed the High Sparrow.

Sycorax passed over again, casting them all momentarily in shadow. The High Sparrow shuddered as it happened.

“Does it not make you angry?” asked Cersei. Dany looked confused, so Cersei added, “This imposter who pretends to be your family. You are the last Targaryen, but this boy could be the one to take your family’s legacy from you.”

Cersei was playing a risky game, but not a very subtle one. She continued, “It always made me angry that my unworthy little brother got to call himself a Lannister, and he was, in spite of it all, my blood. I can’t imagine how it would feel to have your family ripped from you and then to see this utter fraud trying to steal your very name.”

“Family names are not so important in Essos. He can call himself Aegon the bloody Conqueror for all I care. You do have my sympathies, though, for the wars he is causing. I hear the Seven Kingdoms have been quite ravaged by wars these past years,” said Dany.

“Yes, it has been awful, especially for the commonfolk,” said Margaery.

“Not just the commonfolk,” said Mace, looking quiet and sad all of a sudden. 

Margaery leaned over and took his hand, and said, “My own brother, Loras, was recently injured in the war. We hear that the damage to his face is quite extensive, but the maesters on Dragonstone are seeing to him. And we are hopeful.” She forced a smile.

“Such a tragedy,” said Cersei, insincerely. “And you could end it so easily. You obviously care deeply for the smallfolk, the slaves of Essos. You could stop this war in a matter of days, drive Aegon from our shores with your dragon. My son will be a good king, and the people will live peaceful lives under his rule.”

Dany took another sip of her tea. Cersei’s speech would have been a good one, if Dany had not heard the tales from Westerosi sailors about how the Lannister armies were burning and sacking the Riverlands.

“That’s not why I’m here,” said Dany.

Cersei sat back and glared again. Mace ate the final lemon cake, hanging on every word as if he were watching a tourney match.

“Has there been much fighting in the North?” asked Dany, after a long silence.

“The Boltons hold the North. I believe Stannis Baratheon and what little remains of his army mean to challenge them. There have been raids by the Ironborn, but I suppose they have not been hit nearly as hard by the war as the Riverlands or the Crownlands,” said Randyll, finally speaking.

“What about to the north of that big wall?” Dany asked.

They gave her a strange look.

“The wildlings, you mean?” asked Margaery.

“The Others.”

Margaery and Mace looked concerned, but Cersei sighed.

“Not you, too. I can’t tell you how many ridiculous letters we have received from the ravens of Castle Black. The Others are a child’s tale. The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch is the bastard son of a man who betrayed us and was rightfully executed. He only wants to draw our armies up into the North, so he can slaughter us. How in the seven hells did you even hear of this nonsense?”

Dany looked at Cersei.

“Who is this Lord Commander?” she asked her.

“Jon Snow,” said Cersei with disgust.

“At Castle Black?”

“Of course.”

Dany stood from the table and set down her teacup. 

“Well, thank you for that. It has been a pleasure meeting some of you,” she said, nodding to Mace and Margaery, “And an experience meeting others. But I must take my leave.”

Mace stuttered something and the High Sparrow spoke his relief aloud. Dany whistled and Sycorax descended over them, knocking the teacups and plates off of the table with the gusts of air from her wings. The big knight pulled Cersei out of the way and the others scattered out from under the dragon. Sycorax landed and leaned down to help Dany climb over her shoulder. Then she jumped up and they flew back toward the ship.

***

“That was a quick meeting,” said Irri, when Dany and Sycorax alighted back on the deck of the ship.

“I don’t think I could stand one more minute with Tyrion’s sister,” said Dany. She didn’t climb down from the dragon.

“What did they tell you?” asked Jorah.

“The Night’s Watch has been sending letters to the capital. They say the Others are attacking and they have requested aid. Cersei has sent none to them.”

Jorah sighed, watching her still sitting on Sycorax. He knew what she was going to do next, she could see it in his face.

“I will fly ahead to the Wall and see what help I can be. I think you should sail north and meet me there.”

“You aren’t going alone,” said Irri with a frown.

At the same time, Rakharo, Jhiqui, and Jhogo all insisted that they could tolerate no more sailing of any kind.

“Ride then, if you must. Irri, you must stay with them. In the capital, they say the Riverlands are rife with war and raiding. Two hundred warriors may not be enough to pass through safely. You need to protect them with Viserion.”

Irri frowned.

Before Jorah insisted he go with her, Dany said, “And Ser Jorah, you know the North better than anyone here. They will need you, as well.”

He sighed. “We will meet with you at Castle Black, then.”

Dany nodded.

Irri came over to Sycorax. 

“Wait until tomorrow morning,” she said.

Dany hesitated, but agreed. They had little privacy on the ship, and so Irri climbed onto Viserion. Together they flew over the fields that surrounded King’s Landing and into a quiet patch of wooded hills. They spent the night together, wrapped up in each other, one last time before Dany left for the Wall. 

In the morning, Dany kissed Irri goodbye, and then pulled herself away. She flew north on Sycorax, and Irri returned to where the ships had docked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dany and Cersei's first meeting...a tea party! Why not?


	24. The Others

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now that we've moved into Westeros with this story, some of the chapters are going to focus on other characters. Dany will still be the main character of the story, of course, but it just makes it clearer to have multiple perspectives telling a complicated story. I tried writing it all from Dany's perspective at first, but then instead of "seeing" the events as they happened, it was a lot of characters just explaining things to Dany.   
> Also, Dany's coming into Westeros around the end of book 5. So at this point in time: Jon just got stabbed, Arya is in Braavos, Sansa is in the Vale, Bran is with the three-eyed crow, Rickon is on Skagos, and Melisandre, Shireen (still alive!), and Stannis is getting ready to fight the Boltons.   
> Anyway, on with the show!

_ Long ago there were two moons in the sky, two bright lights that shone like eyes above the ancient people of the world. Then, one of the moons drifted too close to the sun. Heated beyond its tolerance, the moon cracked open, and out flew a thousand dragons, bringing magic and fire into the world. _

It was a ridiculous story, but so often were ridiculous stories wrapped around a skeleton of truth. This was a fact the Bloodraven knew all too well. The Bloodraven - who some called the three eyed crow - had a thousand eyes and one, and he had seen many things through the roots of the weirwood tree that grew around his body. He had seen the black rocks falling from the sky thousands of years before his own birth. He thought they were the broken pieces of some comet, or perhaps it was a moon. Most of them fell into the oceans, sending up great tsunamis in their wake. Some fell to the ground, to the islands, to the northern lands of what was now called Westeros, to the eastern lands of what was now called Essos.

The First Men had not yet come to the western continent, so it was the Children of the Forest who found the rocks. They reached out and touched them and their hands came back oily. There was a power in these rocks, a magic, and it was nothing like the magic of the Children. They broke the rocks into smaller pieces and arranged them in a spiral around their oldest and most sacred weirwood tree.

Then the First Men arrived on the western continent and began slaughtering the Children, conquering their way across the land. The Children had only spears of wood and stone, but the Men had iron, steel, and horses. The sacred weirwoods were falling beneath their axes and the Children despaired.

Far in the North, the Children caught twelve of the First Men and brought them to their oldest tree, surrounded by the oily black rocks. Twelve there were, six men, six women. They were taller than the Children and stronger, but the Children outnumbered them and tied them up. The Children brought the first of the captives to the tree and bound him to it. They wiped the oil from the stone with leaves and wrung it out in a wooden bowl. Then they pulled the man’s head back and tipped the oil down his throat. One of the Children came forward with an obsidian dagger and forced it into his chest with a sound like cracking ice. The Children chanted and the weirwood tree swayed in the winds, looking like it was dancing above them. The man’s eyes turned bright blue.

One by one, the First Men were brought to the tree, forced to drink the oil, and pierced through the chest with obsidian. The oil gave them power and the obsidian gave them weakness, so that the Children would always be able to control them.

The Others were born that day.

In the first battle, the Others slaughtered the First Men. Their icy swords cut through steel and armor as if it were nothing. Only one of the Others fell that day, beheaded by a sword with a rippling pattern in the metal, Valyrian steel. The eleven of the Others who remained screamed at her death and killed every last one of the First Men in the village, while the Children looked on.

The First Other to be created looked up at the Children and smiled. He raised his arms above his head and the dead of the First Men stood up again. Some were missing limbs or had gashes in their bellies with their intestines spilling out, but still they stood, and all had bright blue eyes.

The Others turned on their creators, killing Children and First Men alike and raising their bodies as mindless wights. The Children fled from the creatures they had made. The appearance of the Others grew stranger. They became pale, gaunt, and terribly beautiful. They constructed armor made of ice that shimmered and reflected the forest around them. They rode dead horses and commanded giant ice spiders and their hunger for death was never sated. They grabbed a woman from a village of the First Men, took her to the sacred tree, fed her the oil, pierced her chest with obsidian, and said the chants. They initiated her as one of them, a new Other.

And so, the Pact was formed. Vicious enemies came together, the Children of the Forest and the First Men. They sat together for the first time and agreed to fight side by side. With Valyrian steel, obsidian, and fire, they drove the Others and the wights back into the far north, to the place where the winter never ceased.

The Wall was built. The Children hid. The Others were not seen again for thousands of years.

Twelve there were. Six men, six women. When one fell, a new one was created to take their place.

The Bloodraven watched them through the roots of his own weirwood tree. He saw the twelve marching south behind their army of wights. They followed the wildlings, picking off and killing the ones who fell behind, growing their soldiers with each death. 

They were almost at the Bloodraven’s gates.

***

As a child, Bran had dreamed of great heroes. He and Sansa were quite similar in a way, though neither realized it at the time. They loved romantic stories of valiant knights who fought evil and rode away victorious on high-stepping white horses. Bran had so badly wanted to be a knight, himself, a want that had been shattered along with his legs when Jaime Lannister had pushed him from the window. As a cripple, Bran knew he could never be a knight, but he held onto the hope that he could still be a hero.

Then a great destiny was brought to him by the greenseer, Jojen Reed, and the mysterious corpse, Coldhands. They would take him to meet the three-eyed crow, and though he would never walk again, he could fly.

But heroes were never what they seemed.

The Bloodraven wasn’t the glorious figure that Bran had been expecting, even hoping for. He looked like a corpse, with papery white skin stretched over his bones. Roots from the weirwood tree grew through one of his eye sockets, his chest, and his legs. His remaining eye was red as blood and frightened Bran just to look at. And the Bloodraven did terrible things, things Bran didn’t like to think about. He broke the minds of the people of the past and destroyed their futures. He may have killed Jojen. He wanted to save the world from ice and fire. He was a contradiction, not a hero.

The wights were at the mouth of the cave, waiting.

Bran didn’t have time to stop and consider all the Bloodraven’s crimes. He needed to learn the secrets of the Others, no matter the cost. He clung to the roots of the weirwood and the Bloodraven showed him the visions of the past and present, the creation of the Others and the current battles they fought.

***

Summer was growling in the direction of the cave’s entrance, standing protectively over Bran, whose eyes were still milk white. Bran was far away, lost in the past with the three-eyed crow. Meera felt the air grow colder around her. She had wanted to leave the cave ever since her brother’s death, and she had even already packed their things, ready to run at any moment. 

The Children of the Forest were growing nervous. They grabbed their spears and bows, and ran to the mouth of the cave to look out. The Bloodraven kept a sword in the corner of the cave, which Meera picked up, not drawing it yet, but waiting tense and ready.

“They’re here,” said Leaf, her voice echoing back to them.

The Bloodraven’s spoke to them, though his red eye was still milky white. He could be in the present with them and in the past with Bran all at once. 

“The protections will not hold against all twelve. You must run. They’re coming for me and for him,” he said, pointing a shrivelled white hand at Bran.

Hodor was rocking back and forth, mumbling his name, as Summer’s growls grew louder. Meera grabbed Hodor’s shoulders, trying to get him to stand. He shook his head, too scared to move.

“Bran, you have to warg Hodor,” Meera said, shaking Bran’s body furiously until he came back to himself. It took a moment, but then Hodor stood, picked up Bran, and ran. Meera slung the sword over her back and followed, urging Hodor along. Summer led their way through the back tunnels of the cave, pausing every so often and whining for Hodor and Meera to hurry. They could hear hissing and screaming behind them. They reached the door, partially grown over with roots. Hodor set Bran down for a moment and threw his weight against the door. It took two more tries, as Meera shouted at him to hurry, but then he was able to force the door open. They ran through it and saw a dark figure before them, riding a tremendous moose.

“Coldhands?” said Meera.

“You must go south immediately. Get to the Wall. Do not stop for anything.” Coldhands got off his moose, and pulled its antlers down, so that the moose kneeled for them in the snow. Meera clambered onto the animal and Hodor sat behind her, placing Bran in between them. The moose rose and Coldhands drew his sword, walking toward the tunnel door. Two Children of the Forest ran out, followed by the horde of wights. The Children jumped onto Summer’s back.

“Go!” shouted Coldhands.

Meera nudged the moose and they ran into the night. She looked back only once, and saw Coldhands fall under the onslaught of wights.

***

The Bloodraven had tried to get the Children to leave him, to follow after Brandon, but only two had obeyed. Leaf and the rest of them refused. They climbed the weirwood roots up to the top of the cave, and waited above him, with their obsidian tipped spears in hand.

The wights poured into the cave as their masters broke through the protective spells. They raced past the tree roots, growling and snapping, and moved into the tunnels after Brandon. They left the Bloodraven and the Children unharmed. More wights entered, and these stopped and waited, standing in front of the Bloodraven. Their heads turned and two of the Others entered, a man and a woman, both in shimmering armor. They moved gracefully, ethereally, over the ground.

The Children jumped from the tree, slashing at the Others with their spears, but the Others were too quick and the wights were too many. The Children did not land a single blow before they were cut down. Leaf, still sitting up in the roots, pulled back her bow, and shot an arrow through one of the Others’ heart. He shattered into ice and the woman beside him screamed, a horrible sound like a shadowcat’s cry and cracking ice all at once. She spun and plunged her crystalline sword into the Bloodraven.

The Bloodraven could feel himself slipping away, slipping back into the past, never to return. He had prolonged his life far beyond what a human’s life should be. And he had been human once, long ago. He cracked his eye to see some of the last of the Children of the Forest, lying dead on the cave floor, and then looked up at Leaf. He could see visions from the past, all racing through his dying mind.

“Burn them all,” he said. “Burn them all.”

The Other stabbed and slashed at him, but he could hear Leaf murmuring above them. Leaf dropped something down from the tree, which hit the cave floor. The cave exploded as fire and shards of broken dragon glass erupted outward, consuming the roots of the weirwood, consuming them all, Children, wights, Other, and greenseer alike.

Outside the cave, Meera heard the explosion and turned to see the plume of fire and smoke rise into the dark sky. There was a cracking sound and then a thump, as the great weirwood tree fell. She nudged the moose to run faster and looked down at the two Children of the Forest, who cried as they clung to Summer’s fur.

***

On the other side of the Wall, Jon Snow opened his eyes. Except they were not his eyes at all, but Ghost’s. He must have warged into the wolf at some point. He didn’t remember why. He just remembered a feeling of cold.

He was warm now, covered in Ghost’s thick white fur and locked in the rooms at Castle Black. There was something else, though. Ghost was upset, pacing back and forth. He didn’t growl. He never did, never made any sort of sound at all.

Jon’s mind felt different. He was hungry and angry. He could hear strange noises outside. Screaming. A clash of swords. A giant’s roar.

***

The red woman was standing over him and Jon jerked up, gasping. His body felt icy cold for a moment, but then slowly warmth began to seep back in, except for the tips of his fingers. He was sitting on a table in front of a crackling fire, with Ghost standing beside him, nudging Jon’s hand with his nose. Jon pet the direwolf on his head, running his fingers through the soft fur. He paused when he saw his own hand, though. All his fingertips were black, as if they had all died of frostbite. He could still feel them, though. They didn’t feel numb or in pain, just intensely cold. Then Jon looked down. He was in his smallclothes only and his torso was laced with raised scars.

“What happened?” he asked.

Melisandre wiped her hands off with a cloth. They had been bloody.

“I told you to keep your wolf close to you and you did not listen,” she said.

Jon looked at Ghost. He still didn’t remember how he had got here.

“For the watch,” she said.

A memory flashed across Jon’s mind. Witt Wittlestick grazing Jon’s neck with a knife, and then Bowen Marsh plunging his own knife deep into Jon’s belly. There were more knives that stabbed him, but Jon lost track of who wielded them. He traced the scar from Bowen Marsh’s blade.

“For the watch,” each one of them had said as they stabbed him.

“They feared the Bolton’s retribution on the Night’s Watch if you were to challenge them, so they stopped you,” said Melisandre.

“The Boltons?” said Jon slowly. That’s right. He had been going to join Stannis’ army, to save Arya from the Boltons. 

“You should get dressed, Jon Snow,” said Melisandre. She gestured to a stack of clothing next to him, and then left the room. 

Jon pulled on his breeches, shirt, boots, and black cloak. He put on gloves to hide his strange, dead-looking fingers. There was an odd smell in the air, like burning meat, that Jon hadn’t noticed before. He put a hand on Ghost’s back and walked out into the training yard of Castle Black, where Melisandre was waiting for him.

The smell hit him hard as soon as he left the room. Burning meat, and when he looked around the yard, he could see why. Five charred stakes stood on the opposite side to him, each with a dead body burnt beyond recognition lying next to it. Selyse Baratheon was standing nearby, looking pleased. Beside her were Tormund and Edd, who both seemed shocked and perhaps like they might be sick. Wun Wun the giant bellowed happily when he saw Jon and stomped across the yard to look closer at him. Tormund and Edd approached more slowly.

Tormund hesitated and then hugged Jon.

“We thought you were done for,” he said.

“I think I was. I still don’t understand what happened.”

“She burnt them, all the men who stabbed you,” said Edd, nodding to the bodies.

“Only death may pay for life,” said Melisandre, looking over the burnt corpses with an expression of almost boredom.

“Where’s Shireen?” asked Jon. Wun Wun was supposed to be guarding the little girl.

“She’s upstairs, playing with the fool,” said Selyse.

“Can you go keep an eye on her, Wun Wun?” asked Jon, and Tormund had to translate it for the giant. Tormund didn’t actually speak the Old Tongue of the giants very well, so the request required a lot of gestures and pointing. Eventually, though, the giant seemed to understand and walked back to the tower where Selyse, Shireen, and Patchface the fool were staying.

“Valar dohaeris,” Melisandre said, and then she and Selyse left the yard together.

“What’s that?” Jon asked, but Edd and Tormund just shrugged.

Edd was still looking out at the dead bodies.

“She burnt them alive,” he said.

***

As miraculous as Jon’s death and resurrection had been, it solved exactly none of his problems. Arya was still the Bolton’s captive. Ramsay had sent him a taunting letter, which may or may not have been true, claiming that he had defeated Stannis on the battlefield. Cotter Pyke, the commander of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea was still stuck in Hardhome, trying to evacuate the wildlings, while the dead lurked in the nearby forests, picking them off. Bran and Sansa were both lost without a trace, and possibly Rickon, too. What was worse, though, was the numbness that Jon felt when he thought about all these things. He knew he should be scared and furious and sad about them all. He should feel horrified, or something, that he had actually died and then come back to life. He didn’t. He felt sort of empty and hollow and his fingers were cold. He shook his head. He had bigger things to worry about than his own emotions, or lack thereof.

“There’s been a raven for you,” said Edd, coming into Jon’s office.

Edd had been acting as steward ever since Jon became the Lord Commander. He handed over the roll of parchment to Jon.

It was from Stannis Baratheon, who it seemed had not yet been defeated. Stannis’ letter was short and to the point, in the characteristic nature of the severe man. Stannis’ army and the Northerners with him were being hit hard by the winter, but they were holding strong near Winterfell. And the letter bore strange news, as well. Two captives had escaped from the Boltons and joined Stannis’ camp. One of these was the wife of Ramsay Bolton, who was not Arya at all, but rather Jeyne Poole, the daughter of the former steward of Winterfell, whom the Boltons had been trying to pass off as Arya.

Jon set the letter down on the table. Arya wasn’t with the Boltons, which meant that the real Arya had not been seen in years. She was probably dead somewhere. Jon closed his eyes and tried very hard to remember her face. She had grey eyes, he remembered that much, but the rest was becoming a blur to him. What had the red witch done to him?

“We’re going to ride to Eastwatch and take their remaining ships to Hardhome. Gather the men and get the garrons ready,” said Jon. Cotter Pyke had asked them to come by land, rather than sea, but from his message, the woods were teaming with wights. Jon would rather try his luck with the winter weather than try to sneak past such an army.

He couldn’t save Arya, but he might be able to help the wildlings out of Hardhome. Broken and empty though he was, he could still do that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment - I love reading them!


	25. Hardhome

There were four ships left at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, but Jon had only brought men enough to sail three of them. Ghost had reluctantly stayed at Castle Black with Wun Wun, as Jon didn’t think either one of them would like being crammed onto a ship very much. Jon took command of the largest ship and gave command of the other two to Tormund and Edd, and divided the men between them. 

The storms were rough, with relentless winds and high waves, but they didn’t lose a ship. The winds were coming in hard from the east as Hardhome came into view, and it blew them toward the natural harbor. They threw the anchors overboard to keep the ships from being blown ashore and took longboats to the docks.

Hardhome was situated at the tip of the Storrold’s Point peninsula, which jutted out into the Shivering Sea. It had once been on its way to becoming the first real town north of the Wall, until raiders or invaders of some kind attacked the place and burned it to the ground. Now all that remained was a handful of rough wooden buildings, backing up from the shore to a great towering cliff behind them. There was a simple wall built around the settlement, with a stone base and wooden planks mounted on top. Wildlings filled the town and their camps stretched along the coastline outside of the wooden wall, as well, thousands of them. Jon wasn’t sure there was enough room on the ships for all of them.

The longboats pulled up to the dock, where Cotter Pyke was waiting for them. He was a man of about forty, not large, but lean and wiry. He had a pockmarked face and a crooked nose that had been broken more than once. He was a powerful fighter, though at times he could be more bold than sensible. He reached out a hand and helped Jon up onto the dock.

“Lord Commander, we’re glad to have you with us,” he said.

“Glad we were able to make it. Has anyone been moved to the ships yet?”

“We took many of them out, but then the storms got so bad, we had to bring them all back. We thought every ship was going to get smashed against the rocks, but we still have six.”

“Well, the winds are strong, but the sea is calm enough. We should start putting them on board.” Jon looked back at the grey ocean. They had nine ships total, and many people to try and fit in them.

“We’ll start with the children, get them on first. Have you had any trouble?” Jon left the question open-ended for trouble with the wights or with the wildlings themselves.

“When we got here the wildlings were so hungry they had eaten all their dogs and horses and were beginning to eat their own dead, those who had starved or frozen. At this point, they barely care if we’re crows. They just want to leave. The wights pick at the edges of them, but mostly they stay in the forest,” said Pyke.

Tormund and Edd rowed ashore and joined them. Jon looked closer at the wildlings as they walked into the settlement. It was hard to tell under their thick furs and cloaks, but they were starving. Their cheeks were getting hollow and their eyes were haunted. A few of them recognized Tormund and reached out to him. He helped locate the wildling leaders and the evacuation began.

They started with the children, loading them up into the longboats, as many as they could fit. Some of the wildling leaders opened up the gates of the wooden wall, so the parents outside could begin to bring their children to the boats. Once they were set in the boats, men of the Night’s Watch rowed them over to the ships and then rowed back, so that the next group could board. Several of the wildlings stood waist deep in water to help push the boats away from the docks, Tormund among them.

“I don’t know how you’re doing it,” said Jon, standing on the docks. He helped a little girl step down into the boat and then looked over at Tormund.

“Well, I can’t feel my member, but otherwise it isn’t so bad,” said Tormund. Once the boat was full, he gave it a push into the open water, so the rower could take it to the ship.

Edd came back with his longboat.

“First ship is full,” he said.

“Are the captain and crew on board?” asked Jon.

“Aye.”

“Tell them to go.”

Edd nodded and waited as his boat was loaded up, then set off again.

“I think we can start getting the old folk, too,” said Jon. He looked at the crowds of people waiting to board the longboats. They didn’t have enough ships for everyone, Jon thought, but he said nothing aloud. The last thing they needed was a panic.

Jon watched as the first ship set sail, making slow progress against the wind, but progress nonetheless. He knew they had packed it uncomfortably tight with people, filling the hull and deck. The journey back to Eastwatch wouldn’t be pleasant, though it was far better than starving to death in Hardhome.

A blast of cold wind blew in suddenly from the west, good for the departing ships, but not for the men and women standing in the icy water. It howled over the cliffside, sending a spray of snow and ice down on the settlement. Jon felt his skin start to gooseflesh and shivered a little. He saw some of the wildings looking nervously out through the gate. Then was another sound, barely audible over the roar of the wind, like screaming and cracking ice. One of the wildlings shouted to close the gate.

“Wait,” said Jon, running off of the dock and across the settlement. The gate was shut and bolted with a thick plank of wood. As he ran for it, a Thenn man in a bronze helm grabbed his arm.

People on the other side of the gate were banging against it, begging to be let in.

“They’re already here,” said the Thenn, shaking his head.

The roar of the wind got louder, and it became almost impossible to hear anything else, but Jon could still hears as the cries to be let in were replaced by screams of terror and pain, and behind the screaming, there was a savage growling and rasping sound.

“Arms!” shouted Jon, as loud as he could. “Protect the wall!”

The Night’s Watchmen and free folk who were not helping to load the boats drew their weapons and faced the wall. For a moment, the wind cut out and there was silence.

Something hit the wall from the other side, causing it shake. More came, rattling the timbers of the wall, trying to knock it down. The first of the wights began to climb over the top, only to be hit with arrows and knocked down again. The wights moved awkwardly and were not good climbers, but the arrows did not stop them, only temporarily knocked them off. Soon they clambered back up, some with arrows still sticking out of their heads.

Many of the people bolted, running out into the frigid water to try and swim for the ships, rather than wait for the longboats. Jon looked back for a moment to see Tormund punch a man for trying to climb aboard an overly full longboat.

The wall swayed and the wights began to stab their swords through the cracks, hacking and slashing at anything they could reach. It would not hold them back for much longer.

Several wights managed to tumble over the top of the wall, falling into Hardhome. A wildling woman slashed one down with a short sword, but another wight managed to tackle a man down and stab him repeatedly with a knife, before it, too, was hacked apart. Jon sliced one in half with Longclaw and ran to help beat back the others.

Jon realized something as they fought. The wildlings would slash a wight’s arm off and both the body and the arm would keep moving. They would shoot the wights with arrows, split their heads with axes, and pierce them with spears, but the wights would not stop until they were shattered into pieces. With Longclaw, though, the wights were falling and they were not getting back up. Jon ducked under a wight’s sword and stabbed it through the chest. The wight went limp. Jon let it fall off his sword and the wight never moved again. He looked at the blade, covered with blood and viscera, and he could still see the ripples of Valyrian steel underneath.

Some of the timbers of the wall were beginning to splinter and break, creating holes large enough for the wights to reach their hands through. More came over the top. They must be crawling up each others’ bodies to get there, and there were many within Hardhome now. Jon slashed at them, and had to watch as several of his brothers and many of the wildlings fell before the onslaught. He could hear the blood pulsing through his ears, and then he looked up, and he saw the Others.

At the top of the cliff that overlooked Hardhome, mounted on dead horses, were four of the Others. The wind blew the snow thick around them, so Jon could see little more than their silhouettes, but they were unmistakable. In his distraction, Jon was knocked over by a wight, who had no weapon, but tried to claw and bite at Jon’s face. Jon thrashed beneath it, trying to get a good grip on his sword, but then the wight was lifted off and tossed to the ground. Tormund stood over Jon and raised his ax, bringing it down on the wight. He lowered a hand to Jon and helped him to his feet. Jon glanced back up at the Others, and saw one raise its spear, sort of pointing with it.

Wights began to pour over the cliffs that rose above Hardhome, like a waterfall of corpses. Their bodies slammed down onto the rocks below, and they were still for a moment. Then they stood back up and marched forward. The wooden wall creaked and a section of it fell beneath the force of the wights. They were overrunning Hardhome. Tormund and Jon ran for the docks with the last of the living, though people were dying quickly around them from the barrage of wights.

There was a sound from behind them, growing closer. Jon had never hear anything quite like it. It was similar to a hawk’s cry, but raspier and much louder. They reached the docks, where the longboats were waiting. Tormund and Jon piled into the boat with many of the other survivors, and Edd began rowing hard for the ships. People that couldn’t fit inside the boat were clinging to the sides of it, threatening to tip the whole thing into the harbor.

The scream grew louder. Then Edd stopped rowing.

“Seven bloody hells,” said Edd.

Jon turned back toward Hardhome.

A dragon soared over the cliffs, an actually living dragon. For a moment, Jon wondered if he was still dead after all. The creature was huge, with black scales and dark red wings. It swooped down toward the last of the fleeing wildlings, opened its great jaws, and breathed a stream of fire onto the wights behind them. The wildlings paused, looking back at the flaming wights. They turned and ran even harder to reach the longboats and push out from shore.

The dragon curved around and burned through the wights that were running into Hardhome through the hole in the wall. It banked on its massive wings and set the ones at the bottom of the cliff ablaze, as well. The wights went up in flames like dry tinder, though they smelled much worse when they burned.

It was not just a dragon alone, though. There was someone riding it. Jon saw a flash of silver hair behind the dragon’s beating wings. The wights around the settlement were all on fire, as were most of the old buildings. The dragon turned and flew upward until it was level with the top of the cliff. There, it hovered, facing down the four of the Others.

There was a pause, and then the dragon breathed fire, enveloping the Others and their mounts in black flames. Jon could feel the heat from the dragonfire on his face, even from all the way on the boat. The dragon stopped its assault and stayed in place, beating its wings, as they waited for the smoke and fire to clear. With the icy wind, it didn’t take long. The four Others stood, their horses gone, but themselves unaffected. One of them shifted his grip on his spear, holding it like a javelin, and raised it over his shoulder.

“Get out of there!” Jon shouted, though he knew the rider could not hear.

Still, she saw the Other’s weapon, too, and her dragon dived down along the cliff face, pulled up, and then flew out over the sea. The Other threw his spear and it raced through the air as if it had been released from a ballista. The rider was turned around and saw it coming. The dragon swerved and the spear hit the tip of its left wing. 

The dragon screamed and a black liquid sprayed out of the wound, hissing as it hit the water. Somehow, it managed to stay in the air, though it lurched dangerously close to the waters. The dragon flew past the longboats and landed on one of the ships with a relatively empty deck. It stood up on its hind legs and roared back toward Hardhome.

“Row to that one,” Jon told Edd, pointing to the ship with the dragon.

Jon looked back toward the smoking ruins of Hardhome. Bodies were strewn all throughout the settlement and along the beach, so many more people than they had managed to get onto the ships. On top of the cliff, all four of the Others raised their arms, and every dead body that was not on fire stood up again. The longboat was silent as they watched the new wights rise.

Tormund moved next to Edd, taking one of the oars, and together they rowed hard for the ship. Jon turned away from Hardhome.

When they reached the ship, a ladder was lowered for them and they climbed up onto the deck. The dragon stood toward the starboard side, with its left wing held over the side of the boat. Most of the wing was still in tact, though the tip was severed and still dripping black blood into the sea. The dragon was growling low in its throat at the men on deck, who were pointed spears and swords at it.

“Weapons down,” said Jon, lowering one man’s arm with his hand. The others hesitated.

“If it wanted to kill us, we’d all be dead. We’re on a wooden ship, and it can breathe fire. Weapons down,” he repeated. This time they lowered their weapons.

The dragon rider was looking curiously at Jon. He had been so distracted by the dragon that he hadn’t really gotten a chance to look at her. She looked about his age and pretty, with silver hair in a long braid. Her cloak was black and looked too large for her. It was a bit like a Night’s Watch cloak, actually.

“Thank you, Ser. She won’t harm you,” said the woman. She looked around the deck and added, “Any of you.”

The dragon lowered its body, and the rider climbed out of a leather saddle and down the dragon’s uninjured wing. She walked forward to its head and stroked its scaly nose. It snorted a puff of smoke. Then the woman went over to look at the injured wing, though she seemed unsure of how to help it.

“I’m not a Ser,” said Jon, not sure why that was the most important thing he could think to say in the moment.

“He’s Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,” said Edd.

She walked over to him. “It’s nice to meet you, Jon Snow. My name is Daenerys Targaryen.”

He should have known that really. Silver hair and a dragon. Who else could she be? “Right, of course. We’ve heard stories about you from across the Narrow Sea. We knew your great-uncle.”

“My uncle?” she asked, frowning.

“Aemon Targaryen. He was our maester at the Night’s Watch. Good man. He wanted to meet you, but he died only months ago.”

Daenerys looked back at her dragon, then down at the deck. “I never even knew of him. I wish I had come sooner.”

As Jon was speaking to her, he could hear Tormund asking Edd who she was in a loud whisper, and Edd telling him the story of Westeros’ exiled princess.

“Why did you come here?” asked Jon, then quickly added, “Not that we aren’t grateful. It was just a bit of a surprise. How did you know where to find us?”

“I went to King’s Landing first, and received a rather icy reception from the queen there. But she did mention your letters from the Night’s Watch, saying that the dead were coming. Sycorax and I flew up to Castle Black, and there your shadowbinder told me about your rescue mission. I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time to save more.”

“You saved a few. And killed more wights than anyone, well, ever. I’m still not sure why you came, though. Shouldn’t you be taking back your crown in King’s Landing?”

“While the dead rise and invade the North? There are more important things than crowns and thrones.”

“Cersei doesn’t think so.” Jon had sent out many letters about the Others. Most of the southerners had either not replied or had dismissed the information as fantasy and children’s stories.

“No, she doesn’t believe any of it. She may not care much either way. Perhaps there would be a way to convince her, though,” said Daenerys, looking out at the sea, lost in thought for a moment. She turned back to Jon and said, “My dragons are powerful but even they can’t defeat the dead alone. Why didn’t the Others burn?”

“As far as we know, only dragonglass can kill them.”

“But not actual dragons?”

Jon shook his head. It seemed that way. The dragon brought her head around and sniffed at him, focusing on him with red eyes and slit pupils. Her wing had stopped bleeding, but she kept it spread over the ship’s rail. 

“How are we going to get her back to Castle Black? Melisandre should be able to heal her wing, but a dragon can’t exactly ride a horse along the way,” he said.

“How far is it?” asked Daenerys.

“About a hundred and fifty miles.”

“We’ll have to fly it,” she said. The dragon huffed a little.

“We can try to bind her up as best we can at Eastwatch.” Jon raised his hand toward the dragon, and she let him touch her head and some of her horns. Her scales were warmer than he expected, as if there were fire under her skin, even when she wasn’t breathing it. For the first time since he had learned the truth of the Others, he saw the chance that they might actually survive this. 


	26. Castle Black

Eastwatch-by-the-sea was a low stone castle that sat against the edge of the Wall. There were fewer men there than Dany had expected, fewer even than had been at Castle Black. The Night’s Watch had fallen far since its glory days, and Jon told her that their numbers amounted to less than a thousand now. The free folk added a few more thousand to the ranks, though many of them, like those from Hardhome, were starved and injured, in no condition to fight. Stannis Baratheon had a little over three thousand camped near Winterfell and Irri was bringing up one hundred Dothraki riders and one hundred Unsullied along the Kingsroad. From what Dany had seen of the army of wights, the Others had many more than that, and their army grew with every kill they made.

Jon Snow and his men rode out to Castle Black almost as soon as they had reached Eastwatch. Dany stayed behind, with the wildlings and the brothers of Eastwatch, giving Sycorax a few days to heal before they flew again.

The maester at Eastwatch was a drunken man called Harmune, who had no notion of how to go about treating the injured wing of a dragon. Sycorax’s bleeding had stopped, and with her hot blood, she had no risk of rot setting into the wound, but her wing was stiff and sore. It would be a painful flight back to Castle Black. Together Dany and the maester made a paste out of willow bark, nettles, and other herbs, which Harmune said should numb the pain. It worked in such a way on humans, at least. Dany wore thick leather gloves to protect her hands and rubbed the paste over Sycorax’s wound. The blood had scabbed over, but she didn’t want to risk burning herself if the scab cracked. Dragon blood was only slightly less dangerous than dragonfire.

Sycorax flinched away from the paste, but within an hour, she was stretching her wing and even trying to flap it a little. 

Dany thanked Maester Harmune and the men of Eastwatch, bid goodbye to the free folk, and climbed onto Sycorax. The dragon flew upward, listing a little to the left at first, but she soon adjusted to her hurt wing.

The north was cold and barren, but seeing the view from Sycorax’s back, Dany had to admit that it was also stunningly beautiful, on both sides of the wall. To the north, tall snow-covered mountains pierced upward into the clouds, while between them lay deep valleys that had been cut by icy rivers. To the south was frosted farmland that glittered whenever the sun shone through the clouds. It wasn’t such a terrible place to grow up, Dany supposed, if you didn’t mind your feet being constantly numb. At least it was warm riding Sycorax. The dragon radiated heat.

As they flew, they passed over several of the abandoned fortresses of the Night’s Watch. There had been nineteen of them once, and each of them well manned. There were only three now that were still occupied and functional, and without aid, they couldn’t hold back the dead for long.

The disconnected towers and keeps of Castle Black came into view below them and Sycorax descended into the training yard, sending up a flurry of snow around her. There was a little crowd gathered outside - Jon Snow and his glum-faced steward, Edd, were there, along the big and bushy-bearded wildling, Tormund and the shadowbinder Melisandre. There was a little girl with her mother, a fool with a face tattooed in motley, a giant, and a white wolf. Strange times really did bring about strange company.

Melisandre came forward immediately to look at Sycorax, and Dany dismounted.

“You poor creature,” she murmured.

“Can you heal her?” asked Dany.

Melisandre gently pulled on Sycorax’s wing to look at the wound. 

“Yes, it should not be too difficult. There will be a scar,” she said.

“I can help you. I know a little about magic.”

Melisandre looked at Dany and smiled, inclining her head.

Dany turned to the others. She had seen them very briefly, when she had stopped at Castle Black before, but at that time, she had stayed just long enough to get a coat and directions to the wights. Now, Jon Snow welcomed her to the outpost and more formally introduced her to them all.

The mother was Selyse Baratheon, sister-in-law of the usurper, though Dany tried not to dwell on that. She was a thin woman and rather stern looking. From what Dany had heard, her husband Stannis was much the same. Their daughter Shireen was a bright little thing, though a bit sad. The left side of her face and neck were marred by greyscale and she had bright blue eyes. She shied away from the dragon at first, and Dany had to reassure her that Sycorax would do no harm.

“She is a gift from the Lord of Light,” said Selyse, trying to comfort the girl.

Shireen straightened a little.

“She grew up on Dragonstone and the dragon statues there frightened her,” said Selyse.

“I used to dream they would eat me,” said Shireen. Then she asked, “can I pet her?”

Dany laughed. Children conquered their fears so easily. She led Shireen over to Sycorax, and let the girl run her hand over the dragon’s scaled belly.

“She’s warm,” said Shireen.

Then, Jon introduced Dany to the fool, Patchface, and Dany froze. He was strange, even for a fool. His face was covered in orange and green motley and he had two branches, like deer antlers, wrapped onto his head and covered in jingling bells. He spoke some nonsense to her about the sea and shadows. It was not, however, his words or his appearance that gave Dany pause. There were other words that echoed in her head when she looked at him.

_ The fool dragged the little girl into the sea _ . She had seen many strange visions and heard many strange things in Stygai and Asshai both, many of which seemed meaningless at the time. Most of the things she saw, she couldn’t quite remember, but now when she looked at Patchface, those words ran through her head again. Something about him worried her. Something about him near Shireen worried her even more.

Before she could dwell on it, Jon was introducing her to Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun, one of the last giants in Westeros. He was a good fourteen feet tall and hairy, with blunt features and a sloping forehead.

“Little queen?” he said in a deep rumbling voice when he saw Dany. He looked at Shireen.

“He doesn’t speak much common tongue. Tormund knows a little Old Tongue, though,” said Jon.

“Aye, he’s a good enough chap. Not a brain in his massive head, but a good fighter,” said Tormund.

Wun Wun bent down to get a better look at Dany and reached a hand out toward her, then hesitated. She brought her own hand up to touch his, and the giant grinned at her.

“And this is Ghost,” said Jon, scratching the white direwolf behind the ears.

Dany had seen the wolf before, as well, in Asshai. He and a boy had been fighting a wight together. She realized that boy must have been Jon, though he had looked different to her in the dream.

The wolf sniffed Dany cautiously, and with Jon’s encouragement, he let Dany pet him. His fur was soft and thick, and he had red eyes like Sycorax.

“Do you need anything to help heal the wing?” Jon asked Melisandre.

“I have everything I need,” she replied.

Dany thought Jon looked concerned over those words, but he said nothing. Dany turned and went with Melisandre to get her supplies.

***

The sun went down and everyone retreated to the common hall or to their rooms. Melisandre and Dany stayed in the training yard, though, mixing strange powders into a fire, as the snow fell around them.

“We didn’t get enough time to speak when last we met,” said Melisandre.

“I may have been in too much of a hurry to fight the dead. I know to be more cautious now.” Dany looked at Sycorax’s injury. They couldn’t afford one worse than that.

“You know, when we first heard of your dragons, I thought they would be some stunted version, like the last Targaryen dragons, who grew no bigger than cats. The Lord of Light showed me nothing of them in the flames, so I thought they must be unimportant. But she is magnificent. She could grow as large as Balerion someday.”

“She still has quite a ways to go,” said Dany.

Melisandre whispered some words in the harsh tongue of Asshai and blew more powder into the fire, which grew larger and hotter.

“Tell me about your time in Asshai,” said Melisandre.

Dany looked down at her arms. She had rolled up her shirt sleeves and taken off her cloak as they worked, exposing the tattoos on her right forearm. She wondered why Melisandre, herself, lacked the shadowbinder tattoos. 

Dany told Melisandre some parts of her time in Asshai. She left out Stygai, her visions in the place, and her dreams, but she spoke about training with Nhehrai and the blood magic she had learned. She liked Melisandre well enough, but she didn’t trust her.

“She was a shadowbinder, too. Did you know her?” Dany asked.

“I trained her,” said Melisandre. She looked away from her work, staring out into the darkness for a long moment.

That didn’t make much sense to Dany. She had never seen Nhehrai’s face, but her voice had sounded like an older woman. Melisandre looked to be in her thirties, not nearly old have to have trained Nhehrai. Still, things rarely made sense with the shadowbinders.

“We had our disagreements, but she saved my life. I’m grateful,” said Dany.

They were quiet for a moment.

Then Melisandre said, “May I ask you about your birth?”

“About my epithet? ‘Stormborn?’ They say it was one of the worst storms ever to hit Dragonstone. The entire Targaryen fleet was smashed against the rocks.”

“Who was there?”

Dany frowned. She didn’t see why it mattered much now. “My mother, Rhaella Targaryen, my brother, Viserys, Ser Willem Darry, and some soldiers. Although, I don’t remember any of it, of course. But that’s what my brother told me.”

Melisandre looked somewhat unsatisfied.

“And your dragons? How did you find them?” she asked.

Dany told her about the wedding gift from Illyrio Mopatis, the petrified eggs, and the funeral pyre for Viserys in the fields outside of Braavos.

“Petrified eggs?” asked Melisandre.

“Yes, as heavy as stone. Well, they were stone.”

“When did this happen?”

“Years ago. Oh, it was back when that comet was flying overhead. The red one.”

“A funeral pyre next to Braavos on the sea. Smoke and salt.” Melisandre had a strange look on her face. Dany couldn’t determine if she was angry, elated, or hopeless. Melisandre looked into the flames and said nothing. She seemed lost in the fire.

Dany put a hand on her shoulder, and Melisandre flinched.

“We’re almost ready. Just one last ingredient. May I have your hand?” 

Dany offered it to her, and Melisandre drew a dagger and made a small cut in Dany’s palm.

“There’s is power in the blood of kings,” she said, as Dany tried to pull her hand back. Melisandre squeezed some drops of blood out into the fire, which hissed and turned black, like Sycorax’s own dragonfire.

“Now,” said Melisandre. She stood and took Sycorax’s wing, gently encouraging the dragon to extend it until the tip of it sat in the fire. Melisandre said a few more words in the language of Asshai, and the fire flared up all around the wound. The necklace she wore, inset with a large ruby, began to glow.

When the flames finally died back, Sycorax lifted her wing. She stretched it out and tucked it in a few times, as if testing it. Then with a tremendous leap, she took flight into the night.

“Thank you,” said Dany, smiling up at the dark sky.

Melisandre nodded to her, but she still had a strange, lost look on her face.

***

Every night at Castle Black, there were debates over what to do about the oncoming army of wights. Many of the men of the Night’s Watch insisted that their Wall would hold, and that as long as they were on the southern side of it, they would be safe. Dany very much doubted this, as did Jon and Tormund.

“Walls won’t stop them. Stone, ice, or wood, they’ll keep coming. The free folk couldn’t stop them and neither will the crows,” said Tormund.

The brothers of the Night’s Watch began to argue, while Jon, Edd, and a few others sided with Tormund, and then it devolved into shouting once again.

Melisandre had grown more withdrawn since the night they healed Sycorax’s wing. She spent most nights in the common hall with them, though she ate little and said even less. She sat apart from the others in front of the fire, staring relentlessly into the flames. Jon told Dany that she could see things in them, visions from the Lord of Light. 

“What do you see?” Dany asked her one night.

“I understand none of it,” was all Melisandre said in response.

Dany left her alone then, and went back to arguing with the others.

The suggestions were thrown around for hours: We should evacuate the lands just south of the wall. We need to recruit the southerners. We should wait for the other dragon to arrive. We should hit them now with the dragon we’ve got. The Wall will hold. No, they’ll get past the Wall.

And on it went.

Sometimes Patchface would interrupt them, saying some strange and ominous thing.

“The shadows come to dance, my Lord. The shadows come to stay, my Lord,” was his most common phrase.

Dany watched Shireen Baratheon, who delighted in the fool’s company. The girl spent most nights reading or talking to her mother, though Dany could tell she was also listening intently to all talk of wights and Others. Shireen wasn’t safe in this place, not just because of the looming threat to the north. There were plenty of ominous things surrounding the girl. There were fools, trapped men, and shadowbinders who spoke of spilling king’s blood.

Dany missed Irri. She missed Jorah, Stalwart Shield, Tyrion, Shae, and her khas. Her people. But Irri most of all. Patchface was a sinister fellow, but he was right about one thing. There were shadows everywhere in the North.

***

“We need to send the Baratheons away,” Dany told Jon a few days later. It was early in the morning and still dark, and other than those who had watch duty on the Wall, they were the only two awake.

“What? King Stannis entrusted me with their safety,” said Jon.

“And you think they are safe here?”

Jon said nothing. He must have known that they were not.

“This is no place for them, no place for any child,” Dany continued. As the words left her mouth, she thought about her own age, and Jon’s. They were little more than children in truth, but they couldn’t be children any more, and neither of them had been able to be children for quite some time.

“Where would you have them go?” asked Jon.

“You know the north far better than I do. There must be some place that’s safe. Safer, at least.”

Jon frowned for a moment, thinking about her words.

***

Selyse Baratheon was not happy about the move, but Dany gave her little choice in the matter. Still, the woman complained bitterly about leaving Castle Black for some “spit of cold rock in the sea,” as she put it. 

“You expect us to live under the protection of a twelve year old who refuses to recognize my husband’s right to rule. You separate us from our priestess and her wisdom,” said Selyse.

“I expect you to live under the protection of the cousin of my dearest friend,” said Dany.

Dolorous Edd had sent out a raven to Bear Island, asking the young Lyanna Mormont to allow Selyse and Shireen to stay with her. They had not had a reply yet, but Dany didn’t want to wait. She hoped Lyanna could be convinced, either by gold, by empathy, or by dragon. Besides, in spite of Lyanna’s refusal to recognize Stannis as king, her older sister, Alysane Mormont, was fighting with him against the Boltons.

Selyse and Shireen walked out into the courtyard, where Sycorax was waiting. Her wing barely showed the damage from the Other’s spear now, other than a slight discoloration on the regrown tip of it. Dany spoke to her and the dragon crouched as best she could.

“I’m not riding that beast,” said Selyse.

Dany climbed up Sycorax’s back and waited as Wun Wun picked up Selyse and placed her on the saddle. Dany helped her put her legs in the stirrups and strap them in place. Selyse complained, but she made no other resistance. Shireen was next, looking sadder than ever. If Dany didn’t know better, she would say that Dolorous Edd was the girl’s real father. They both tended toward the gloomier dispositions.

“What about Patches?” Shireen asked.

“He would be too heavy for the dragon,” said Dany. It wasn’t completely true. Sycorax would likely be able to carry four people, but it was as good an excuse as any to leave Patchface behind.

“Safe journey,” called Jon. 

Dany finished securing Shireen and then fastened herself into the saddle.

“The crows fall into the sea and the waves toss them back,” said Patchface, his bells jingling.

Shireen began to cry, and Dany nudged Sycorax to fly away.


	27. The Hunt

Lyanna Mormont was about the same age as Shireen, but utterly different in temperament. Where Shireen was sweet and melancholy, Lyanna was fierce and unyielding. Lyanna’s mother, Maege Mormont, was the Lady of Bear Island, but she was away on some business with two of her daughters, leaving the young Lyanna in charge of the island. The girl was a Northerner through and through, as Jon had warned Dany she would be, and as such she was distrustful of outsiders and remarkably stubborn. 

“I received your letter by raven, but I have not yet sent my reply. Why are you here?” were Lyanna’s first words to them.

The wind howled around Mormont Keep, but the hall was kept warm by a great fire. Bear Island was a barren place, with few resources, and the Mormonts were a rather poor family, though well-respected as warriors. They had no great stone castle, only a simple wooden longhall, surrounded by a tall fence.

“Lady Mormont, I’m afraid the situation has become grave enough that we could not wait,” said Dany, stepping forward before Selyse could say a word.

“And that is the problem of House Mormont? You’re not from the North, none of you. You’re Targaryens and Baratheons. I serve the Starks of Winterfell and no others. Unless a true Stark commands me, then you would do well to take them back to Castle Black.”

“It was Ned Stark’s son who bid us here.”

“Whose name is Snow.”

Dany felt herself growing frustrated. Jon was right. She didn’t understand these Northerners. She didn’t understand the Westerosi very well, any of them. What was so important about a name?

“You’re a Northerner. Have you ever been north of the Wall?” asked Dany.

Lyanna’s scowl grew deeper.

“I have not,” she said.

“I have. Do you know what monsters reside there?”

“Are you planning to tell me children’s tales?” asked Lyanna.

“Did your men not tell you how we got here? We rode here on a dragon, and yet you dismiss what lies beyond the Wall as children’s tales. I have seen them. I can show you the scar on my dragon where the Others nearly knocked her out of the sky. I am not asking you to come fight them, or to send your men to come fight them. I am only asking that you keep a woman and her daughter safe.”

Dany practical spat out the last word, but Lyanna didn’t look at all intimidated or convinced.

“Show me,” said Lyanna.

“Show you?”

“Show me the scar on your dragon.”

Dany frowned, but then turned and led the way back into the cold. Lyanna followed with her maester and a few armed men, though Selyse and Shireen stayed inside where it was warm. They went out through the gates. There was a carving on the gate, depicting a woman in a bearskin cloak, nursing a babe with one arm and holding an axe in the other. It seemed a fitting depiction, given what she knew of the Mormont family.

Sycorax was curled up with her head tucked onto her tail and her wings folded over her. A light layer of snow had fallen on her, but when she heard them coming she stood and shook off the snow. She rose up onto her wings, curving her long neck to look at Lyanna, and Lyanna, to her credit, did not flinch. Dany walked over and pulled the wing out to show her.

Lyanna inspected it for a moment and then said, “It doesn’t look so bad.”

“A shadowbinder healed it. It could have been much worse, believe me.”

Lyanna looked over the dragon and the leather saddle.

“Can I ride her with you?” she asked.

Dany looked at Lyanna for a moment, and then climbed onto Sycorax.

“Come on then,” she said, nodding her head.

Lyanna scrambled up behind Dany and buckled the straps around her legs.

“Soves,” said Dany, and Sycorax flew up, leaving Bear Island behind. The wind whipped mercilessly at them as they flew, and the snow was falling so thickly now that it was hard to see much of anything. Sycorax circled over the keep a few times and then touched back down at the gates.

The knights and soldiers were looking nervous, as if they hadn’t quite expected Lyanna to come back in one piece. The dragon knelt so that Dany and Lyanna could climb down. They went back into the hall.

“Have you made your decision?” asked Selyse when they came back inside.

“You may stay here under the protection of House Mormont until your safety on the mainland is no longer under such a threat. But we do not recognize your husband as king, nor you as queen. Here you will be Lady Baratheon,” said Lyanna.

Selyse looked like she wanted to argue, but Dany saw Shireen take her hand and squeeze it.

“That is...acceptable,” Selyse said at last.

“You may stay the night here, as well, until the storm passes,” Lyanna told Dany.

Mormont Keep was little more than a single hall. It had a few rooms off to the side, but the only hearth was in the main room. Because of that, Lyanna, the maester, the guards, and the guests all slept on palettes in front of the fire. Selyse was scandalized by this and went into one of the bedrooms, though Lyanna said she would surely come out to join them once the temperature dropped. Dany didn’t mind, though. It was nice enough to be warm and dry.

Sycorax could not fit through the front door of the keep, but the Mormonts had a sheep shed that was only walled on three sides, so Sycorax curled up beneath it. Dany doubted all the sheep would survive the night with her, but Dany would leave some gold behind for the Mormonts to replace them.

As Dany drifted off, she could hear Shireen telling Lyanna all about Wun Wun the giant and everything she had seen on the Wall. Dany smiled to herself. This was a far better place for the Shireen. She might actually survive here, far away from the dangers of the mainland.

***

The next morning, Dany and Sycorax flew back to Castle Black. The trip took only half a day, but it gave Dany some time alone to think about the Others and their thralls. They were different from the dead she had seen in Stygai, which had been hungry, flesh-eating beasts. These were somehow even more chilling. They wanted nothing but to kill and to build their masters’ army. As she had done many times in the past few weeks, Dany ran through their numbers of fighters, comparing them to the army of the dead. They desperately needed the south, needed something. Though Dany had not had much success in her brief time in the south. Queen Cersei thought she was a threat. The High Sparrow thought she was a heretic witch. The Tyrells might be sympathetic, but Dany wasn’t sure. The southerners needed something they could not deny, some proof of the wights.

Dany landed in Castle Black.

“I have an idea,” she told Jon Snow before he could even greet her.

***

Tormund Giantsbane climbed gingerly onto the dragon and sat behind Dany. A boy of about fifteen called Jace crawled up after him. Jace was one of the Night’s Watch newer recruits, and according to Jon, quite good with a bow. The men of the Watch had broken up one of their few dragonglass spear tips to make over a dozen arrowheads for the three of them. The plan was to avoid the Others as much as possible, but just in case, they would have some weapons against them. The only weapons against them really.

“You know this is mad, Dragon Queen?” asked Tormund from behind her.

“I do. Not as mad as walking out on foot, though,” she said.

He laughed behind her.

As soon as Sycorax jumped into the air, Jace latched onto to Tormund so tight, Tormund exclaimed, “Gods, boy, are you a babe and I your warm mother to be clinging to me like that?”

Dany looked back at them, but Jace’s grip never loosened. Despite the saddle holding him in place, his face was white with fear.

“I probably should have mentioned I’m afraid of high places,” he said, practically whimpering.

“You’ll get used to it,” Dany shouted back at him.

They passed over the icy landscape north of the wall, heading back northeast, to Hardhome. When they arrived, they found the place deserted. There were no wights, no Others, and no dead horses. The only thing left of the place were a few burned bodies and the scorched remnants of the buildings.

“Where have they gone?” asked Jace.

“An army that size shouldn’t be hard to spot. Let’s go north. The moment you actually want to find the dead buggers, they disappear,” said Tormund.

They flew north and then farther north. Dany didn’t want to spend a night out beyond the wall, but just as they were about to turn back, Jace spotted some movement. 

“Up ahead,” he said, leaning forward in the saddle to point.

Far below them, Dany could see the black specks running through snow, looking as tiny as ants. Sycorax tilted downward and Tormund yelled a few obscenities as they plummeted toward the ground. Sycorax stopped then, and hovered over the wights.

It was a small band of wights, a scouting party perhaps, and there was no Other with them, watching over them. They ran mindlessly northward, though a few stopped and looked up when they saw the shadow of the dragon over them. One screamed in a horrible raspy voice and the other ones stopped their march. Some drew their bows, and aimed at Sycorax and her riders. 

Jace was too quick, though, and shot two of them down with obsidian arrows. Tormund got one, as well, right through the head. 

Dany called out to Sycorax. The dragon swooped downward and grabbed two of the wights, one in each of her back feet. The others charged forward as soon as Sycorax was near the ground, but the three riders shot them back with the last of their arrows, and Sycorax pulled away. Along with the wights in her talons, there was one that had grabbed hold of her tail. Sycorax gave the tail an angry flick, and the wight was flung off and fell to the ground below. Dany leaned out and tried to look at the wights that Sycorax held, but she couldn’t get an angle to see them.

“Are the wights secure?” she yelled back to Jace. 

He grabbed hold of Tormund’s arm and leaned over to look around the dragon.

“They look like they’re trying to bite her, but she’s holding tight to them,” he said.

“Her scales are too thick for that,” said Dany, patting Sycorax on the shoulder.

The dragon roared and turned back toward Castle Black.

The wights were vicious things, and they screamed when Sycorax flew them over the Wall. They thrashed in her claws, wailing as if they were in some sort of agony. Then the pain seemed to leave them and they went back to biting and scratching at her. She landed with the wights held down beneath her feet, and the men of the Night’s Watch approached.

“You were gone longer than expected,” said Jon.

“Hard to find the buggers,” said Tormund. He struggled with the straps on his legs, and Jace had to lean forward to help him, so they could both climb down from the dragon.

Jon made a motion with his hand and his men stepped forward, holding nets and swords at the ready. Wun Wun the giant waited several feet away. They were worried he would kill the wights if he helped, and they needed them alive - or at least, as alive as they were. Dany patted Sycorax’s left shoulder, and the dragon lifted her left hind leg. The wight lunged out at the men, but they threw the net over it, and pulled it tight. They wrapped its arm to its sides and then bound its legs together. The wight snapped its jaws and kicked out its legs, but it could do little else. The men moved around to the other side and did the same to the second wight.

Ghost watched it all, standing silently next to Melisandre, looking tense and ready to jump in if Jon needed help. The wights were strong and they weren’t stopped by pain or fear, but they were terribly outnumbered by the Night’s Watch. The men were able to bind the wights with little injury to themselves other than a few minor scrapes.

The leathersmith of Castle Black had fashioned a sort of harness for each of the two wights, with a thick leather strap to connect them. Sycorax would be able to carry the strap with the two wights hanging down below her, and not be so bothered by their biting.

“When will you leave?” asked Melisandre, approaching once the wights were secured.

“Tomorrow morning. Early,” said Dany.

“Be careful on your travels. The fires show me nothing but shadows and death.”

“You are the ones who stay in the domain of the Others. Where I fly will be relatively safe.”

“King’s Landing is never safe,” said Melisandre, shaking her head a little. “I will pray for you, Dragon Queen.” She waved her hand a little and walked back into the common hall.

The men locked the wights away in the stables, with a guard to watch them through the night. Dany climbed down from Sycorax and joined Jon Snow.

“Where will you go first?” he asked.

“First to Dragonstone, then King’s Landing, then the Stormlands. Irri should arrive here in a matter of weeks, with one hundred Dothraki and one hundred Unsullied. With any luck, I shall return with far greater numbers to support our cause.”

“Luck,” said Jon quietly, as if he didn’t hold out any hope for it.

Dany touched him gently on the shoulder and went to her room for the night. She had a long journey facing her the next day.


	28. The Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I have officially finished this story! It might be the longest thing I've ever written. Updates should be pretty frequent from now on (as long as I don't have anymore computer trouble). I'll try for a chapter every two days or so.

The Night’s Watch and the freefolk all watched as Sycorax flew away to the south, with the two wights dangling from the strap held in her talons. She grew smaller and smaller and then disappeared from view, leaving only unbroken grey sky. Jon felt a little numb as he watched them go, but then again, he always felt a little numb now. He still had emotions, still felt things, but in a muted, clouded sort of way. His memory wasn’t the same either. He could recall facts better than he used to. He could remember the exact number of swords, shields, and arrows that the Night’s Watch had, the names of all of their ships, and the strengths and weaknesses of all his men. Other memories, however, were starting to elude him. He thought back to his childhood, sparing with Robb in the training yard, playing with Arya and Bran, and drinking ale with the household servants, but those things were slipping away from him. The faces of his siblings were becoming hazy and the burning need to find them and protect them had dulled. Melisandre had brought him back to life, but some pieces of him had been left behind in the realm of the dead. He wasn’t himself, as he had once been. He was a new Jon Snow, and perhaps not one he liked very much.

Ghost licked Jon’s gloved hand and Jon scratched the wolf on his shoulder. Ghost still felt the same to him as always, and Jon still had warg dreams, seeing through the wolf’s eyes. At least that still remained to him.

In the following days, they had no sign of the Others or the wights, much to Jon’s relief. He and Edd sent ravens once again to the prominent northern households, asking for men, Valyrian steel, and dragonglass for the Watch, and asking the lords to move their people south, away from the Wall. They received few replies and those that did respond were not positive. The North was in a turmoil of war, with Stannis and the northern mountain clans fighting against the Boltons. They had no men to spare and no patience for children’s stories, as they said.

The Wall loomed high over Castle Black, holding steady, as it had for thousands of years. It rose up seven hundred feet into the air. It was impenetrable. It had to be.

A horn blew out from the top of the Wall, and Jon stopped, waiting. There was only one, and one blast meant returning rangers. That made no sense to Jon. Since Hardhome, he had stopped all rangers from going north of the Wall. Jon watched as a figure racing down the steps from the top of the Wall and into Castle Black. Matthar, a man who was recruited to the Watch at the same time as Jon, came running out to him.

“Lord Commander,” said Matthar, breathing heavily.

“What’s happening? I sent no rangers out,” said Jon.

“They’re not coming from north of the Wall. They’re coming from Eastwatch. It looks like there’s a direwolf with them.”

Jon looked at Ghost, who had his ears pricked forward. 

“Take two men and ride out to them. Bring them here immediately,” he told Matthar, who nodded and ran to the stables.

Jon went back into the common hall, where the men were eating breakfast and Melisandre was sitting in her usual spot by the fire. The fool, Patchface, was muttering to himself in a corner, the bells on his antlered hat jingling softly.

“What news?” asked Edd.

“A group is coming back from the Nightfort,” said Jon. He sat next to Edd at the Lord Commander’s table, but ate nothing. 

He had sent the first builder of the Night’s Watch, Othell Yarwyck, to lead a group of builders and restore the Nightfort, the fortress just west of Castle Black. They needed as many of the fortresses open as they could get, if they hoped to repel the Others. The builders had complained that the Nightfort was haunted, but Jon had shaken it off as superstition and sent them anyway. Now they returned with a direwolf. He wasn’t sure what to make of that.

The sentry’s horn blew once more, and Jon went out and ordered the gates to be opened. They did, and Othell Yarwyck and Matthar rode into the yard of Castle Black, leading one of the strangest groups Jon had ever seen. There was such a rush of new information, seeing them all. It was too much for Jon to completely understand right away.

Bran was there. It took Jon a few moments to recognize his brother’s face, but it was undeniably him. Bran’s auburn hair had grown shaggy and he seemed a little taller, perhaps. He sat on a horse with a girl behind him, helping to hold him in place in the saddle. Hodor walked beside them and began to happily say his own name when he saw Jon. Next to Hodor were two small figures, like children, who wore heavy cloaks and hoods pulled up over their heads, so Jon wasn’t able to make out their faces. They carried small spears that had been tipped with dragonglass. Then there was Summer, and the moment he came through the gate, he and Ghost ran for each other. They sniffed at each and wagged their tails back and forth. Even Ghost, who was usually so stoic, was acting like a pup again.

Jon should be doing the same thing really. Well, not wagging his tail, but he should be running up to Bran. He felt frozen, though, and could only manage to walk up to the horse.

“Bran,” he said. He didn’t know what else to say.

“Jon,” said Bran. His voice was a little deeper than it had been.

“You should come inside. We’ve got a fire going.” Jon reached up and helped pull Bran off the horse, and then carried him toward the common hall. 

Othell stopped Jon, though, saying, “We should really talk in private, Lord Commander.” 

Jon nodded and changed course for the tower where his rooms were. Bran was skinny and easy to carry, and he wrapped his arms around Jon as they walked.

A memory came to Jon, one of the last days of happiness they had had together in Winterfell, when he and Robb had been teaching Bran archery. Bran had been terrible at it, and Arya had snuck in and fired a bullseye right over Bran’s shoulder. Offended, Bran had chased Arya through the training yard. For a moment, Jon felt more human than he had in a long time. He held Bran close as they went into the tower, and up to Jon’s rooms, followed by Othell, Edd, Hodor, and Bran’s other companions.

Edd quickly got a fire going and Jon set Bran down on a chair by the hearth. Melisandre came quietly up the stairs, and stared at the two small cloaked figures with her eyes wide. Bran was quiet. He looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and hollow cheeks. Edd said something about bringing them food, and left the tower.

“I don’t - what happened?” asked Jon, looking from Bran to Othell.

“They came racing up to the Wall, and we caught them trying to come in through the Black Gate. They looked scared out of their minds. We could barely get a decent word of explanation out of any of them. And then there’s, well…” Othell trailed off, looking at the two small figures. He gave them a nod.

The two figures reached up and removed their cloaks and gloves, and looked up at Jon. They had brown faces with white spots across their skin like a fawn’s fur. Their ears were deerlike, as well, large, pointed, and twitching. They had wide green eyes, flecked with gold, and with slitted pupils like a cat. They had only three fingers and a thumb on each hand, and black claws instead of fingernails.

They were Children of the Forest, and they were alive. Without thinking, Jon reached out a hand and touched one on the cheek. They touched his hand and said something in a lyrical sounding language. 

“They don’t speak the common tongue that we can tell,” said Othell. “Gods be good, though, I never thought I’d see the day.” He shook his head.

Jon went and sat next to Bran, and the two Children went over to Melisandre. They ran their fingers over her cloak and whispered to each other.

“Will you tell me what happened? What were you doing beyond the Wall?” Jon asked.

It wasn’t Bran that answered, though, but the girl who was with him. Caught up with Bran and the Children, Jon hadn’t paid her much attention yet. She looked a little older than Bran, and taller, with curly brown hair and green eyes. She carried a sword over her back, and a net and dagger at her belt. She introduced herself as Meera Reed, the daughter of their father’s friend, Howland Reed.

“We were looking for the three-eyed crow,” she said. 

Jon didn’t know what that meant, and said so.

“He is a seer, who lives beyond the Wall. He was calling Bran to him, and my brother Jojen and I helped take Bran to him. He lived beneath a great weirwood tree, with the last of the Children of the Forest. He showed Bran visions and gave Bran the greensight. But before Bran finished learning to control the sight, we were attacked by the Others. We escaped, but the three-eyed crow and all of the Children except these two were killed.”

“What sort of visions?” asked Melisandre, turning her attention from the Children to Bran.

“Of the Others, I think,” said Meera.

“They make no sense,” said Bran quietly, finally speaking up. “The three-eyed crow showed me their sacred site, far beyond the Wall, but everything I have seen since his death has just been flashes, like a dream. I see the Others, and dragons, and Winterfell. I think Winterfell is important.” He looked up at Jon.

“A sacred site?” asked Jon. He had never heard of such a thing, even in Old Nan’s stories.

“I know how the Others came to be.”

***

Jon supposed the origin of the Others did not matter overly much. Knowing that the Children had created them and then lost control of their creations, well, it didn’t help Jon in any real practical way. The Children could not speak common tongue, or even the old tongue that Wun Wun spoke. They only spoke in the sing song voice of the true tongue, which was older than ancient and had been lost to the years.

Bran knew where their sacred site was, where they could create a new Other when one of them fell, keeping their numbers at twelve. They needed to destroy it if they were to truly defeat the Others once and for all, but it was too far and too dangerous to ride beyond the Wall. If Daenerys were still at Castle Black she could have flown to it, but she was gone to the south.

And Winterfell. Bran said Winterfell was important, though he didn’t understand why. His visions showed him the castle and the godswood, over and over again. Bran saw himself in front of the weirwood tree and saw fire and ice all around him. Winterfell was held by the Boltons, and Stannis had little chance of taking it. Even Melisandre, who so fervently supported Stannis, was beginning to doubt his victory.

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell,” Bran had said.

***

Wun Wun the giant delighted in the Children, and they in him. They were all ancient creatures. Their kinds had lived in the world together long before the First Men had arrived and killed them both. They were the last remnants of civilizations that had fallen centuries ago and the last memories of their peoples. The Children liked to climb up the giant, as agile as squirrels, using their sharp claws to catch hold of his clothing. They would sit on his shoulders for hours, looking down on the men of the Night’s Watch as they went about their duties.

Melisandre should distrust them. After all, they were the servants of the Old Gods and they knew nothing of the one true god, the Lord of Light. But she couldn’t bring herself to have any sort of ill feeling for the Children. They filled her with sadness, seeing the two souls all alone in the world, but she liked them, in spite of herself.

The Night’s Watch, not knowing the Children’s names, called them Brighteye and Little Spear. Brighteye was the taller of the two, though not by much, and had more yellow in their eyes. None of the men could tell if the Children were male or female, though some of the men had a few lewd suggestions on how to find out. One look from Melisandre, however, and they had quieted with such talk.

Nothing made sense to Melisandre any more. She asked the Lord of Light to show her Azor Ahai and all she saw in the flames was endless snow. She tried to see Stannis, to know if he was alright, and all she saw were winter storms. Things used to be so clear to her. She had left the temple of R’hllor, looking for Azor Ahai, and she had found Stannis. He had seemed so perfect to her, the reborn hero they needed. Now there was the girl who woke stone dragons, the boy Melisandre had brought back from the dead, the cripple with visions of the past, and the fool, who she had never trusted.

Melisandre sat in the common hall, watching the fires, while the Night’s Watch and the freefolk ate together. The Children came over to her and stood, staring into the flames, as well. Patchface walked toward them, murmuring something about a mummer’s dragon, but Little Spear hissed at him, baring their small sharp teeth, until he retreated away.

“Do the flames show you things that they hide from me?” Melisandre asked the Children.

Brighteye cocked their head, twitching their ear a little.

“Have your gods ever abandoned you? I see nothing in the flames. I can’t hear my Lord’s voice, though it used to be so strong to me. I still hold the vigils at night for the men who follow the Lord of Light, but I can’t feel his warmth the way I used to. He told me to resurrect Jon Snow, and I still don’t know why.” Melisandre turned back to the fire, glaring at it as her eyes burned. Her necklace, usually such a comfort, felt heavy on her throat.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked to see Little Spear had reached out for her. Little Spear ran their clawed fingers delicately over Melisandre’s arms, tracing the pattern of her tattoos. Most people couldn’t see the markings. She kept them hidden under a glamor, the same spell that hid her true age. Apparently she couldn’t hide herself from the Children, though. Little Spear said something to her and then sang a little song, soon joined by Brighteye. They had beautiful voices.

The Children had created the Others. They had made the darkness that threatened them all. Melisandre should hate them for it, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do so.

***

_ There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. _

Bran’s words echoed in Jon’s head. Jon wasn’t a Stark, though, he was a Snow. Bran was a Stark, and one of the last Starks left, but Jon didn’t like the idea of taking a crippled boy into a dangerous battleground. And that’s exactly what Winterfell had become. They had had little communication from Stannis, but no new taunts from Ramsay Bolton either. They hoped that meant Stannis’ army was still holding strong.

“You are a Stark, if not in name then in blood. You have the same Stark blood that I do,” said Bran. Then he added, “But I’m still coming with you.”

“No, you’re not,” Jon said.

“I have to. I don’t know why, but I have to. Don’t try to leave me. I’ll just sneak out with Meera and Hodor and come anyway.”

Jon looked up at the ceiling of his chambers and sighed. Bran was as stubborn as ever, perhaps even more so. Jon had to admit, though, that having Bran around did make him feel more like the old Jon. His emotions felt a little stronger around Bran, as did his sense of protectiveness.

“You’ll stay behind the lines, away from any fighting. You’ll have Meera and the wolves to protect you and you must stay with them,” Jon said.

Bran agreed.

“Are you sure about this, Bran?”

“Over and over in my visions, I see Winterfell. I know it’s important.” He spoke firmly.

“Alright,” said Jon, shaking his head.

The last time Jon had tried to leave for Winterfell, he had been stabbed with five knives. This time went a little better. Some of the men complained or argued with him. They were still afraid that the Boltons would retaliate against the Night’s Watch, but the wights scared them far more. Jon did his best to reassure them that this would all be important somehow in their fight against the Others.

Dolorous Edd was given command of Castle Black in Jon’s stead, and he stepped into the role with dignity.

“Fuck you, Snow,” he said, shaking his head.

“Just keep the monsters on the other side of the Wall,” said Jon, clapping Edd on the back. 

Tormund, Wun Wun, and the free folk stayed behind to help defend the Wall from the wights. Edd seemed glad to have them - well, as glad as he ever got.

“I never thought I’d see day, but I’m becoming a bloody crow,” said Tormund.

“Yeah, you going to take the vows of chastity?” asked Jon with a chuckle.

“And deprive the world of Tormund’s Giantsbane? I think not.” He paused. “You take care of yourself, little crow.”

The Children of the Forest stayed behind, as well. They said something to Jon in their singsong language and pointed at the Wall. He supposed that meant they wanted to stay and keep an eye on it.

Jon had expected that Melisandre would insist on coming. With Shireen and Selyse gone to Bear Island and Stannis at Winterfell, she had little purpose at Castle Black anymore. He found her, however, sitting by the fire, looking nearly catatonic as she stared into the flames. He touched her on the shoulder.

“We’re leaving for Winterfell now. I just wanted to say goodbye,” he said.

Her eyes looked a little unfocused.

“I do not see anything anymore,” she said.

Jon frowned at her, but she seemed to shake herself out of it.

“Be careful, Jon Snow. The winter storms are as much your enemy as the Boltons.”

He told her he would, and left her to staring at her flames.

Outside, Tormund helped Bran onto a horse. They didn’t have a fancy saddle for him, like the one Tyrion Lannister had designed, but the leathersmith had added some straps to the stirrups of one their old saddles. It wasn’t perfect, but it kept him on the horse. Meera and Jon mounted up on their own shaggy little garrons, but Hodor stayed on foot. He was too large for the horses and he was afraid of riding anyway. They opened up the gates and walked out of Castle Black. Jon whistled for the wolves to follow them and looked back once more at the group that had gathered in the courtyard. He waved once and then turned back to the road to Winterfell.


	29. The Greywater

Irri rode Viserion high above the horse riders, keeping a sharp eye out for the Lannister armies. They had had a peaceful enough start to their journey, as the Kingsroad was far enough east that it avoided most of the conflict in the Riverlands, which centered on Riverrun. However, as they moved north, up along the Trident, they began seeing more soldiers, and more villages that had been destroyed by soldiers.

Tyrion had tried to explain the conflict to them - how the War of Five Kings had ended, but factions throughout Westeros still battled for power. It was complicated to say the least. The Freys had betrayed the Starks. The Starks and the Lannisters hated each other. The Lannisters and the Tyrells were allies, but secretly hated each other. The Boltons had stolen the north. The Tullys were mostly dead or captured. And on and on it went. Irri cared little for the squabbling of these noble families, but it was painful to see how the wars had spilled over into the countrysides and villages, and left the commonfolk with nothing but death and ruin.

They passed by fields and forests that had been burnt to ash, dead soldiers left to rot in the sun with no one to bury them, and plenty of starving and hungry villagers. They rarely stopped in the villages that were left. The people in them always flinched away from the mounted soldiers of the Dothraki and the Unsullied. They looked as though they were expecting another attack at any moment, as if they were waiting for the Dothraki to race in to plunder and harm them the way the other armies had. There was something broken, almost dead, in the eyes of these villagers, a grim resignation to a terrible fate. Irri and the others just passed through as quickly as they could, bought what food they needed, and moved away to a quieter area to set up camp for the night.

They encountered their first group of Lannister soldiers just past Lord Harroway’s Town. The soldiers had been marching east from Riverrun, but had heard of Dothraki forces invading Westeros, so they had turned north and surrounded the Dothraki and Unsullied with a force of around seven hundred men. Irri had simply flown Viserion over them, breathing fire into the air, and they had scattered away like rats. 

Rumors were spreading that the “Imp,” as the Westerosi called Tyrion, was travelling with a barbarian horde and a dragon, and that they were the ones burning the countrysides. The villagers started to hide away when they passed, locking themselves in their homes or running into the hills. Jorah had told them to expect this. The Dothraki had a fearsome reputation in Westeros, as did dragons, of course. But Irri and the rest had a mission to keep, and so they kept marching northward through the damaged and unfriendly countryside.

They rode with the Green Fork of the river to the west and the mountains of the Vale to the east, until at last they passed a great castle, composed of two towers, one on either side of the river, and a bridge between them.

“That is the Twins, the seat of Lord Walder Frey, and the site of the greatest betrayal in recent history,” Tyrion told them, as they camped that night by the river. They could see the fires burning in the castle, but no armies were sent out to attack them. Word of the dragon must have reached Lord Frey, and so he stayed back behind his stone walls.

“What happened?” asked Jhiqui, moving closer to Irri by the campfire.

“The Freys were supposed to be allies with the Starks of the North, but my father made them...a better offer. They invited the Starks and their armies to a wedding, between one of Frey’s daughters and the King of the North’s uncle. So the wedding goes along, everyone gets drunk, and then the Freys lock the doors and slaughter everyone. They killed King Robb Stark of the North, his mother Catelyn, many of the Lords and Ladies of the North, and most of the Stark’s soldiers.”

“This is cowardly, to kill people at a wedding,” said Rakharo, looking out at the castle.

“They say that the Frey’s men cut off Robb Stark’s head and put a wolf’s head in its place, and paraded him all around the castle,” said Shae.

“He deserved better,” said Tyrion. He took a drink from his flagon.

“My cousin was killed there,” said Jorah. He had been up watering his horse, but he came to sit with them when he heard them speak of the massacre. “Dacey. She was one of Robb’s kingsguard. She should have died with a sword in her hand, if she had to die, but they were all unarmed when the Frey’s attacked.”

“I’m sorry,” said Irri, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“The gods will punish them, I suppose,” he said.

Irri set up the guards and went into her tent for the night. It was much smaller and simpler than the one she had shared with Dany on the Dothraki Sea, little more than canvas stretched over a stick frame. They were trying to travel fast and light through Westeros, and so they carried only what they needed, and no real luxuries. She lay back in her bedroll. She missed Dany. The tent felt empty without her there, as it did every night, though tonight felt worse than usual. She wondered what horrors Dany might be facing in the north - dead things and monsters. Irri wished they were together. She turned over, and eventually fell into a restless sleep. 

***

Stalwart Shield woke Irri early in the morning, as the sun was just starting to rise over the eastern mountains. A layer of dew had seeped through her bedroll and into her clothing, and she felt damp and chilled. As she emerged from the tent, she could see several of the Unsullied and Dothraki shivering and trying to warm themselves by the remaining campfires. Irri went and leaned against Viserion, feeling the heat from the dragon’s scales. Ser Jorah came over to her.

“I think we should stop at Greywater Watch. It’s a few miles off our course, but we’ll be able to buy furs and cloaks. We’ll never survive in the far north with the clothes we have,” he said.

Irri nodded and rubbed her fingers together.

“How far is it?” she asked.

“About two hundred miles from here.”

They could make that in four or five days, if they hurried. And given how cold they all looked. Irri imagined that riding quickly would not be a problem.

***

Greywater Watch was said to be nearly impossible to find, as it was hidden deep in the swamps of the Neck, the region that separated the North from the other kingdoms of Westeros. Many an army went searching for it to try and conquer it, only to find themselves trapped in the bogs that surrounded the area. It was possible, however, to spot the castle and surrounding town from dragonback, which was exactly what Irri did.

She didn’t have much experience with Westerosi castles, other than the glimpse she had had of the Red Keep in King’s Landing and the brief night spend by the Twins. Still, this one seemed particularly strange to her, and nothing like the architecture she had seen anywhere in Essos. The castle itself wasn’t built of stone for one thing, but wooden logs, reeds, and thatch. It was a tall building, with a steeply pointed roof, and blended in well to the swamps and mossy trees that surrounded it. The village consisted of a series of wooden huts and longhalls, encircling the main castle. Each building sat on a strange little floating island and was connected to the other islands by rope bridges, so that they all drifted slowly through the waters together. Outnumbering the huts were the many many boats that spread out around the river. Some looked to be simple fishing vessels, but others had large structures built atop them, so they were more like houses themselves.

Irri flew back to her company and led them carefully over the dry passages of ground that snaked through the swamps. Under Jorah’s suggestion, the Dothraki carried white cloth banners to signal to the crannogmen that they meant no harm.

“They are a reclusive people, but fine warriors and hunters. It is said they dip their arrows in poison, so even a minor wound will cause a painful death,” said Jorah, as they approached.

They stopped on the banks of the murky river, and Irri landed Viserion as best she could between the trees. For a moment, she thought that perhaps the castle and village had been abandoned. There was no sound or movement from within, only a few wisps of smoke to signal that people still lived there.

Eventually, a shallow-bottomed boat was sent out, rowed by two men. They stopped several feet from the shore, eyeing the dragon, and shouted across.

“Who comes to the Greywater?”

Irri stepped forward. “My name is Irri of the Dothraki Sea in Essos. My companions and I want no trouble. We only wish to trade for furs and winter garments.”

“And who are your companions?”

“The Dothraki of the Great Grass Sea. The Unsullied of Astapor. And Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island,” said Irri. She omitted Tyrion’s name, as the Lannisters had a poor reputation in these parts.

“Mormont?” said the crannogmen, and they sailed a little closer.

From the corner of her eye, Irri saw a flicker of movement in the trees. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise, and she looked back, squinting into the gloom. She couldn’t see them, but she could sense more of the crannogmen were out there, hiding behind them. Viserion growled, but she put a hand on his neck to stop him.

“Relative of Maege Mormont?” asked one of the men.

“She is my aunt,” said Jorah, looking confused.

“We have had the pleasure of hosting your aunt and two of her daughters for some time now. She came to recruit us into King Robb’s army, but now that the king is dead, we have all just been killing the Bolton men and the Ironborn together,” he said.

“She’s a right old bitch, but I’m growing rather fond of her,” said the second man.

“Aye, the she-bear. Good name for her. Well, you’ll have to leave your dragon on the banks. I don’t think the crannogs can hold his weight. The horses should stay, as well. But I suppose we can trade with Maege’s nephew, if we must,” said the first.

The crannogmen rowed to the village and came back with more men and two larger boats. Irri chose ten Dothraki and ten Unsullied to come with her and Jorah to the Greywater, while the rest stayed with Tyrion and Shae on the banks. Viserion took flight, and circled over the castle, and slowly people began to emerge from the huts to watch him and the approaching boats.

They were taken across the islands until they reached the wooden keep of Greywater Watch in the centermost crannog. The front doors were carved with images of snakes, frogs, and three-pronged spears, and they opened to reveal a great hall, full of long tables. All the tables were empty, except for the one of the far side of the hall, at which sat two men and four women.

A young squire with reddish hair stepped forward and introduced them.

The man in the center was Howland Reed, the Lord of Greywater Watch. He had a slight build and wore shirt of bronze scales. Next to him was his wife, Jyanna, a small woman with quick eyes. On her other side was an older man with a thick grey beard, a northern lord, named Galbart Glover. And there were the three Mormonts, Maege, Lyra, and Joelle. They were all big women, taller than the little crannogmen and more stoutly built. They wore leathers and chainmail, and Irri could see knives and axes at their hips. 

Howland Reed greeted them all politely enough, but then Maege spoke.

“Jorah,” she said in a booming voice. She waved her hand, indicating for him to step closer, which he did. “In the name of the Gods, what are you doing here? Ned Stark banished you, and it was merciful of him not to take your head. What could have compelled you to slink your way back into the North?”

Dany had told Irri a little about Jorah’s banishment from Westeros, but Irri still flinched a little at Maege’s chastisement of him. Jorah, however, managed to stay calm enough.

“I had not intended ever to return to Westeros, but circumstances have changed. There are things that have compelled the Dothraki of the plains, the Unsullied, the Dragon Queens, and me along with them to cross the Narrow Sea and enter the Seven Kingdoms,” he said.

“What circumstances are these?” asked Howland Reed.

Jorah looked over at Irri.

“The dead that rise beyond the Wall,” he said.

Howland Reed raised his chin, looking them all over carefully, and Maege huffed out a great puff of air through her nose. 

Irri stepped forward, then, and spoke. “The Mother of Dragons has seen their coming, and your own Night’s Watch has confirmed it. She saw that if these Others, as you call them, if they manage to conquer the entire continent, then they will freeze the Narrow Sea and Essos will be the next to fall. We mean to stop them before they are able to do this. We march to the Wall, to provide what aid we can.”

Maege leaned forward, causing her chair to creak beneath her. “You’re one of these dragon queens, I suppose.”

“I am not really a queen. But I am a dragonrider.”

“We have no proof that the Others are real,” said Galbart Glover, rising from his seat. “They are but stories meant to frighten children. And as for these prophecies from Essos, I will not put my trust in witches from the east.”

“I didn’t believe the stories of dragons returning to the world, until just now when I looked out the window and saw one fly down from the sky,” snapped Maege.

Glover took his seat again.

“We ask for nothing from you. We only wish to buy warm cloaks, and we have gold to pay for them,” said Irri.

Howland stood and walked out from behind the table.

“I will allow this. We shall sell what we have to spare, and give you food, if you need it, as well. My son and daughter are far in the north now, Jojen and Meera. Jojen used to see the dead in his dreams. Sometimes I regret letting them go. It is a dangerous place, the far north. But, I wish you luck.” He extended his arm to Irri in the Westerosi fashion, and she clasped it, as she had seen Jorah and Tyrion do.

***

The crannogmen were not a rich people, but they knew how to survive. They lived in the swamps and bogs where other men could not. They knew how to last through the brutal northern winters, and how to hunt and fish and gain what meager resources they could. Irri gave them a large amount of gold, and the villagers began to load up the furs, cloaks, and gloves into the boats.

Jyanna Reed came up to her as they worked.

“I think my children have gone north of the Wall. Sometimes I dream about them, but lately I’ve only seen Meera, never Jojen. He was a greenseer - do you know what that is?”

Irri shook her head.

“The greenseers, they see things. Things that have been. Things that are. Things that could be. I have a little bit of the greensight, but not like Jojen. He was always so resigned to it. He told me once that he had even seen his own death, and I think it’s finally caught up with him.”

Irri didn’t know what to say to that, how to comfort the woman.

“Meera may be all that is left to me,” continued Jyanna. “If you - if you happen to meet her up in the North, will you tell her to come home? Tell her to come home safe to me.”

A tear ran down Jyanna’s cheek, and Irri took her hand.

“I promise,” she said.

Jyanna patted Irri’s hand and went back inside the great hall. Irri walked down to help load the boats where she could hear Jorah and his aunt arguing away at each other.

“Why do you not return to Bear Island?” Jorah asked her.

“King Robb gave Glover and I a mission. We were to find the crannogmen and attack the Ironborn. Now, our king is dead, but the North is not. It’s been overtaken by krakens and Bolton bastards, but the North still stands. These crannogmen know how to fight even when you don’t have the numbers on your side. So, we’re going to wipe the Neck free of Freys, Boltons, and bloody Ironborn,” said Maege, in a growling voice.

“But you leave our home undefended.”

“Lyanna holds the island.”

“Lyanna is twelve.”

“And she has more honor in one of her toenails than you could ever hope to have, nephew.” Maege straightened her shoulders and left Jorah standing by the boats.

“She’s quite fierce, your aunt,” said Irri, going over to him.

“Aye, and her daughters are just the same. They aren’t too terribly fond of me at the moment.”

“Maybe they will be, when all this is over.”

“Maybe,” he said.

When the boats were loaded, they climbed back into them and the crannogmen took them back to the horses and the rest of the group. One of Jorah’s cousins, Joelle, came out and gave a little half-hearted wave to them, but the other two Mormonts stayed inside. A flurry of snow began to fall over them, and they were quick to pass around the new garments, as the Greywater and its village became gradually covered in white.


	30. Cold Vengeance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting some new characters this chapter (new to this fic, I mean). If you watch the show and don't read the books, check out the endnotes. Some of the characters have pretty different journeys in the books vs. the show, and I'm going with the book version, for the most part.

Irri and her khalasar marched northward through the neck, heading for the ruined fortress of Moat Cailin. They saw no more Lannisters, though they did run across the occasional party of Bolton men, who rode under a banner of a red flayed man on a pink field. They seemed a gruesome lot, but they made no moves against the Dothraki and Unsullied. They could see the dragon flying overhead, so they let the khalasar pass without conflict.

The khalasar settled one night near a shallow creek, when Jhiqui came running back into the camp. She had gone to the creek to fetch water for the horses, but she soon rushed back, saying there were bodies hanging from the trees just upstream. Rakharo and Stalwart Shield leapt up and ran in the direction she told them, and Irri followed soon behind them with Jorah.

They smelled the corpses before they saw them, but they saw them soon enough. There were eight of them, swinging by their necks from the tree branches that grew out over the stream. They were long dead and overripe, with their faces rotting away. Their garments were still more or less in tact, however, and Irri could make out the emblem on their chests, two black towers on a green field.

“Freys,” said Jorah.

Rakharo looked at the sloughed off skin on some of the bodies and then down at the creek water.

“We shouldn’t drink this,” he said.

They left the bodies where they were and moved their camp a few miles upstream. 

A few days later the khalasar met the ones who had killed the Frey men in the first place.

Fat snowflakes were falling from the sky all around them, adding to the shallow layer of snow that was already on the ground. The group pulled their wool and fur cloaks around them, still cold, but at least they weren’t losing fingers to frostbite. They were grateful to the crannogmen for that. The horses were trudging through the snow, with Rakharo leading the way, when they heard a yell in the distance. Irri flew ahead on Viserion, squinting through the flurries of snow to try to make out where the sound had come from.

Through the trees, she spotted a small band of people, standing in a grove. Viserion roared as they approached, so the Dothraki and Unsullied could find them more easily, and then landed, sending up a flurry of snow around his feet.

Irri looked around at the people, captors and their captives. They had a man with a rope around his neck, ready to be hanged. Two more people were bound to the trunk of a nearby tree: a tall woman, who Irri thought must have been the one who had shouted, and a boy of about sixteen. As for the captors, they were a rather ragged and strange bunch. They included a big man in a bright yellow cloak, a young man wearing a bull’s helm, a red priest, or so Irri thought by his red robes, and a cloaked figure whose face Irri could not see.

The rest of the khalasar arrived and quickly surrounded the band of captors, aiming their bows and spears at them. The red priest dropped his sword and was about to say something when Tyrion and Shae rode up. Tyrion’s eyes went wide as he saw the man they were about to hang.

“Jaime?” he said.

The man with the noose looked up. He had blonde hair the same shade as Tyrion’s and he wore fine armor inlaid with gold and with a lion on his breastplate. Tyrion had mentioned his brother before, one of the few members of his family that Tyrion actually loved, though their relationship was not without its complications.

“Tyrion?” said Jaime.

“Get away from him,” Tyrion snapped, and the two men on either side of Jaime backed away, looking nervously at Viserion. Tyrion slid off his horse and ran over to Jaime, pulling the noose off his head.

“What happened?” asked Tyrion. Jaime, however, was not looking at Tyrion, but at the cloaked figure. Irri leaned forward on Viserion, as the figure lowered her hood.

Jhogo shouted in surprise when he saw her, and Irri could not blame him. The woman under the cloak was deathly pale, and her skin bloated and sagged around her face. Her hair was patchy, white, and brittle as straw. There were scratches on her cheeks and gaping gash across her neck. Irri had thought all the dead were behind the Wall, but here was one right in front of them, a corpse woman. Viserion roared, and the woman looked at him without fear.

“What is this?” Irri asked, looking at the captors, but none of them seemed to want to answer.

Finally, the red priest stepped forward.

“Forgive us, Dragonrider. I am Thoros of Myr and we are the brotherhood without banners. For years, our cause has been the cause of the common people, and we have worked to make these lands safer for the smallfolk. Our leader here was killed by the Freys, at the wedding massacre, but the Lord of Light brought her back to us. We have been following her words and his will ever since,” said the priest, though he looked grim as he said it.

Tyrion took a step toward the woman.

“Catelyn? Catelyn Stark?” he said.

The woman stared at him. Her eyes were blue and clear, but they burned with hatred. There was nothing else left in this woman but hate. Irri thought about ending it right then and there, killing the woman, but she hesitated. This Catelyn Stark didn’t seem like the dead that Dany had described from her dreams. This one still had a mind, even if it was only an angry and bitter mind.

“Cut the captives free,” said Irri.

Two of the Unsullied jumped down to free the armored woman and the boy with her. The man in the bull helm cut the bonds on Jaime’s hands.

“Why were you about to execute this man?” Irri asked.

“Lady Stoneheart commanded it,” said the man in the yellow cloak. He looked nervously from the dead woman to Irri.

“Why did you command it?” asked Irri.

The dead woman covered her throat with a withered hand and moved her mouth, though Irri could hear no words coming out.

“She says he is a traitor, Dragonrider,” said Thoros.

Irri looked at Tyrion, who shook his head. 

“I would recommend that you and your Lady Stoneheart take leave of this place. We are travelling north to fight the dead beyond the Wall. But I will kill the dead right here if I must,” said Irri.

The dead woman fixed her harsh gaze on Irri, and Irri shivered in spite of herself. The other members of the brotherhood, however, retreated out of the grove, and after a moment, the dead woman followed them. Only the one in the bull helmet remained.

“She told you leave, boy,” said Rakharo.

The young man removed his helmet. He was a dark-haired lad with a strong jaw.

“Please, I- I can’t travel with them anymore. At first, the brotherhood seemed so noble, but with her in charge, all we do is slaughter people. I don’t even know if they’re guilty. We don’t give them trials anymore,” he said.

“Let him stay,” said Irri. They needed all the fighters they could get and he looked strong enough.

“Thank you,” said the young man, with an awkward bow.

“What’s your name?” she asked him.

“Gendry.”

Tyrion seemed to know the other two captives, as well, and Irri climbed down from Viserion and went over to them.

“Irri. This is my brother, Jaime. My former squire, Podrick Payne. And this is Brienne of Tarth, a fine warrior of the realm.” They each nodded as Tyrion introduced them. “And this is Irri, one of the three Dragon Queens.”

“It’s an honor, my lady,” said Podrick. Irri had never been called that before, but she didn’t mind it.

“I’m glad you showed up when you did,” said Jaime, shaking his head a little. 

“We found some of the Frey men they had killed, just down the road,” said Irri.

“Was that really Catelyn Stark?” asked Tyrion.

Both Jaime and Brienne nodded their heads, both looking a bit sick.

“She was very different once,” Tyrion told Irri. “She loved her family fiercely.”

“She still does, in her own way,” said Jaime, rubbing at his throat.

The snow began to fall a little harder around them. They had planned to make the journey to Castle Black in a little over a month and a half, but none of them had truly accounted for the snow. It could slow them down considerably, and Irri didn’t want to lose any more time than she already had.

“I think if we rearrange some packs on the mules, we should have enough for all of you to ride. Unless any of you want to ride on Viserion with me,” she said. The four newcomers all looked at her and shook their heads.

Jaime ended up riding on the horse behind Tyrion, and they managed to clear off enough mules for Brienne, Podrick, and Gendry to each have their own. The sky was already beginning to darken around them, so Irri got back on Viserion, and they all continued northward.

***

A week after the khalasar left the Twins, a new figure arrived on the same hill and looked down at the two towers that spanned the river. It had been years since Arya Stark had seen the Twins. Back then, she had come so close to reuniting with her family, with her mother and brother, only to have them murdered just before she arrived. She still dreamed about that night, the night of the Red Wedding. In other dreams, she could see through the eyes of a great wolf, a wolf who slaughtered the Freys and the Brave Companions and all the other cutthroats in the Riverlands. In Braavos, she had tried to be No One, but she could never stop being a Stark, never stop being a wolf. 

So Arya had left Braavos and bought passage on a ship to Gulltown in the Vale. There, she had taken a horse and ridden it west to the Kingsroad and then north along the Trident. As she travelled, she had heard incredible tales of dragons flying overhead, dead men walking in the North, and sparrows taking over King’s Landing. She didn’t care much about any of that. She had her sights set on the seat of House Frey. Now, she stood once again at the Twins, alone this time. There was no Sandor Clegane to stop her from running inside, and there was also no mother waiting for her.

Arya climbed off her horse and took off its saddle and bridle, setting them down next to some trees. She gave the horse a slap on its hindquarters, and it snorted and ran off across the fields. She turned back to the Twins and placed her hand on the hilt of Needle.

“Valar morghulis,” she said to herself.

***

Roslin Tully looked down at her protruding belly and rubbed it gently with her hand. She was days away from giving birth, or so the maester said, but she prayed for the babe to come sooner than that. As soon as it was born, she and the baby could go to Casterly Rock, where her husband, Edmund, was being kept captive, and she could leave the Twins far behind her. 

It hadn’t been much of a place to grow up, what with her father barking orders at them all and every man in the family fighting each other for power. From a young age, she had learned that girls had to be quiet and that their worth came from the children they would bear. 

She had done her part, at least, she thought bitterly.

The Twins had become even more cursed since the Red Wedding, and Roslin so longed to travel away from it. She knew little about Casterly Rock, other than that it was an immensely fine and wealthy castle, but she knew it had to be better than the dark and damp towers of the Twins. Edmure was a prisoner there, but Jaime Lannister had sent a message to her, assuring her that Edmure would be well treated. And she, herself, would be a guest there.

She would miss her sisters, but that was all she would miss.

The halls of the Twins were quiet as she walked down toward the great hall. Her father had called some sort of celebration for the men in the family. She didn’t know what they had to celebrate, really. Freys were going missing in the Neck and dying alongside the Boltons. Roslin wasn’t supposed to be interrupting the feast at all. It was for her brothers and her nephews, not for her. But Maester Brenett was there with them, and her stomach was giving her an awful pain all of a sudden. She continued on down the hallway and pushed open the doors of the great hall.

She stepped inside and began to scream.

They were dead, each and everyone of them. Her brothers, nephews, and great-nephews, the maester, and the steward, all were slumped over their tables. Some had blood in their eyes or spittle around their mouths, and all had twisted expressions of pain on their dead faces. Worst of all, though, was the head of the table. There, Lord Walder Frey sat in his chair with his arms positioned onto the armrests. His throat was slashed wide open and his face had been removed. There was only a bloody, mangled mess where it had once been, and then Roslin noticed that the face itself was lying on the table in front of him, just like a slab of meat.

She ran out of the room and vomited in the hallway. Servants ran to the sound of her screaming and caught her as she nearly fell to the ground.

The castle of the Twins was truly a wretched and accursed place.

***

Once her job was done, Arya stole a fresh horse from the stables and rode away from the Twins. The servant girls and Lord Walder’s newest wife, Joyeuse, had already fled from the castle. They had all thought they would be blamed for the massacre, and rightly so. Who would really believe that the long dead Arya Stark had changed her face to Lord Walder’s and slaughtered all the Freys? It would seem much more likely that a servant had done it.

Arya kicked the horse to go a little faster as snow fell around them. She didn’t feel all that better, to be honest. She had thought that she would. It felt a little better to kill the Freys than to leave them alive, but it didn’t erase what had been done to Robb and their mother. Nothing would.

It was one name off her list, at least. She soon hoped to be crossing the next one off. Cersei would have to wait awhile longer, because Arya was hunting Boltons next, and she heard they were at Winterfell.

***

Littlefinger may have been the Lord Protector of the Vale, at least until Robert Arryn came of age, but he had never been well-liked or trusted. He was low-born for one thing, known to be cunning and ambitious, and there were plenty of unsavory rumors about him. For the past year or so, Sansa had pretended to be his bastard daughter, Alayne Stone, and had played his games for him. She had been grateful to him in a way. After all, he had helped kill Joffrey and had spirited her away to the safety of the Eyrie. And she did truly enjoy living in the Eyrie, safe among the knights of the Vale and high in the remote mountain peaks of the castle. That had never faded. Her gratefulness to Lord Baelish, however, had quickly waned.

She thought back to the day he had kissed her, out in one of the snowy courtyards. What a wretched day that had been. There was the kiss itself, which was bad enough, young Robert’s fitful tantrum, Aunt Lysa’s jealousy, and then Aunt Lysa’s death, when Littlefinger pushed her out the Moon Door. Sansa had lied for him then, and had helped him frame the lusty singer, Marillion, for the murder.

After that, things had calmed down, for a time. Littlefinger acted as Lord Protector and Sansa took care of young Robert, who grew more and more attached to her after his mother’s death. She had grown quite fond of the boy, actually, though she doubted he would survive into adulthood, as small and sickly as he was. Sansa had made other friends around the Eyrie and the Gates of the Moon, as well. There was Myranda Royce, the daughter of Lord Nestor and a lively, bawdy-humored young woman. There was Mya Stone, a bastard girl who led the mule teams up and down the mountain. Sansa was even beginning to tolerate Ser Harrold Hardyng, after his initial rudeness to her. Littlefinger had arranged for Sansa to marry Ser Harrold, or Harry the Heir as they called him, and Harry had been most offended to find himself engaged to the bastard, Alayne Stone.

Harry was handsome enough, quite handsome actually, though he could often be vain and disdainful. He was a good swordsman and an even better jouster. The other knights of the Vale liked him and respected him. Sansa had heard more than one of them muttering that they wished young Robert would just get on with it and die, and leave Harry to take his place as Lord of the Vale. What Sansa had grown to like most about Harry, though, was that he was not particularly intelligent. He was easy enough to manipulate, and Sansa had grown much better at manipulation, under the tutelage of Littlefinger.

As for Littlefinger, he grew more and more unbearable by the day. Without Lysa Arryn to keep a watch on him with her beady, jealous eyes, Littlefinger had grown more bold with Sansa. Perhaps outwardly, it looked like a father showing affection for his daughter whenever he put his arm around her or kissed her cheek, but Sansa knew better. Even as Littlefinger urged her to flirt and win over Ser Harry, still he made his own advances on her. 

At the same time, Sansa worried about young Robert Arryn. He was a sickly little boy with a powerful title, a title that many of those around him coveted. Sansa didn’t think Harry would do anything violent to the boy, though his supporters might. And Sansa very much believed that Littlefinger might do something to harm Robert. Because of this, she had arranged the tourney for the Brotherhood of Winged Knights, and had selected eight of the finest knights to personally protect and serve the young lord.

With the tourney over, the knights chosen, Sansa felt a little more secure in Robert’s safety. Ser Harry had apologized thrice over for his rudeness and was on his way to becoming quite smitten with Sansa. That only left Littlefinger for Sansa to deal with.

Sansa had no idea how to kill a man with a sword. She had no idea how to kill one with poison. But she thought, that just perhaps, she may be able to do it with words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so book version of what's happening to certain characters (just in case it wasn't clear enough):  
> -Catelyn Stark: She was killed by the Freys at the Red Wedding and her body was dumped in the river. Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrion found her. Beric gave his own life to resurrect her. She is sort of zombie-like, though, and doesn't seem to have all her memories. She travels with the brotherhood without banners, killing as many Freys as she can.  
> -Brienne: She is travelling around with Podrick, looking for Sansa, when they get caught by the brotherhood. The brotherhood threaten to kill Pod if Brienne doesn't bring them Jaime Lannister. Brienne goes to Jaime and tricks him into going to the brotherhood.  
> -Gendry: He never goes off with Melisandre in the books. Instead he joins the brotherhood and becomes Ser Gendry.  
> -Arya: Still in Braavos at the end of book 5, but she's back in Westeros for this fic.  
> -Sansa: Never marries or even meets Ramsay Bolton in the books (so far, at least). She's still in the Vale pretending to be Littlefinger's bastard daughter.   
> I think that's everyone.


	31. Arya and Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dany comes back next chapter, but I hope you've liked seeing what some of the other characters are up to.

Arya travelled up into the Neck, where the Kingsroad narrowed until it was a slender causeway, only just wide enough for a carriage to pass along. Thick bogs and swamps surrounded on either side of the road, and Arya spotted snakes and lizard-lions lurking in the waters. She stopped at the few inns and taverns along the way, paying with silver that she had taken from the Freys. They tended to be small and simple businesses, but they were good for a warm meal and a bit of gossip, and there was plenty of gossip circling around the area.

“The whole lot of them, I heard, each and every one. Well, the men at least. They were all strangled to death in their beds is what I heard,” said a man in one of the inns.

“No, no, they were poisoned,” said a woman next to him, while the others around them agreed with her.

“I heard they were eaten by wolves,” said Arya, unable to help herself.

“That’d be fitting, wouldn’t it?” said the man, but the woman insisted it was poison that killed the Freys.

The massacre at the Twins was not the only story going around, though. Arya heard often about the dragon had that had flown overhead.

“A great white thing, it was, as big as a city,” they said.

“Did it do anything?” Arya asked.

“Not a thing. Just flew overhead like a great white ghost. There were men travelling along with it. Strange men, you know, from Essos,” said one of the innkeeps.

Arya was sorry she had missed it. She would have loved to see a dragon. 

And then there were the tales of the dead woman, who roamed the fields with a band of outlaws, weeping and hanging those who had wronged her. Some said she was a ghost. Some said she was an Other. They were all afraid of her. 

“Careful not to go out after dark, or Lady Stoneheart will get you,” they said.

It sounded like one of the stories that Old Nan used to tell. Arya remembered sitting at the old woman’s feet with Bran when they were children. Old Nan would knit, and as she did so, she would tell them about the Last Hero and the Long Night, and they would shiver and not be able to sleep that night. Her mother had told Old Nan not to tell them such stories before bed, but Nan soon forgot and told the stories anyway.

Ghost stories didn’t scare Arya anymore. She had become one of them.

That night, Arya dreamed she was running through the snow-covered bogs with a pack of wolves behind her.

In the morning, she left the inn and continued north. She didn’t get far, however, when an arrow landed just in front of her horse. It reared up, nearly knocking her to the ground. She got off the horse and drew Needle, ready for a fight. It was a snowy day, and it was hard to see far into the distance, but she squinted in the direction the arrow had come from.

Men began to emerge from the trees. Some of them she even recognized.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked them.

Thoros of Myr stepped forward.

“Arya Stark?” he said.

“That’s right.”

He got a strange expression on his face, sort of remorseful. She supposed he must feel guilty for trying to keep her and ransom her back to the Tullys.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

“After I ran away from you? Went to Braavos.” She gave a little shrug.

Some of the other men, Lem Lemoncloak and Harwin among them, looked at each other and then back to her. They were acting strange and it put her on edge. She kept her sword drawn. She looked over all their faces. If this was all of them, then the brotherhood without banners had shrunk in size since she’d last seen them. There were several faces missing: Anguy, Swampy Meg, and-

“Where’s Gendry?” she asked.

“Oh. He went north, toward Winterfell,” said Thoros.

There was something wrong with them all. Why were they acting so strange?

Thoros stepped forward and Arya raised Needle higher to stop him. He raised his hands in front of him.

“I think you should prepare yourself.”

_ For what? _ thought Arya. Was she going to have to fight all of them?

There was the crunching sound of footsteps in the snow as a new person approached. Arya squinted again, trying to make out who it was. A hooded figure appeared, walking closer and closer. The figure looked up and Arya stared into her eyes.

_ No. No, it can’t be _ . 

***

The air was cold and crisp around the Gates of the Moon, but it was a sunny day as Sansa walked with Ser Harry through the training yard. They paused for a moment, watching as Ser Roland Waynwood knocked the blunt sword out of Ser Uther Shett’s hand and then knocked him to the ground. The sound of the knights sparring always reminded Sansa of home, of listening to her brothers spar in Winterfell.

“I was so sorry to hear of your father’s tragic death,” said Harry, a little awkwardly.

“Yes, I think it has stunned us all.”

“Lord Baelish was an...honorable man.”

Sansa turned to face Harry, and gave him a sad smile.

“He wasn’t,” she said. “He was manipulative and a liar. But he was my father, I suppose.” She took Harry’s arm and they continued their walk through the yard.

“I can’t believe Lyn Corbray was the one to do it. He’s always been an ill-tempered sort, and I know he opposed Littlefi- Lord Baelish, but I never thought he would resort to such means. His brother is quite gallant,” said Harry.

Sansa did her best not to laugh. Lyn Corbray was wretched snake of a man, just like Littlefinger. Both were blinded by their lust for power and their belief in their own superiority. Lyn Corbray and Littlefinger had schemed together on occasion, but they had despised each other. It hadn’t taken much on Sansa’s part, just a few suggestions to Corbray that Littlefinger had cheated him out of his money, as well as his inheritance, and Corbray had slit Littlefinger’s throat in the night. Ser Lothor Brune had caught Corbray on his way out of Littlefinger’s bedchambers and killed him. Sansa actually thought Littlefinger might have even been proud of her plot, had he not died because of it. 

Harry stopped again and took Sansa’s hand.

“Alayne, I know your father always protected you, but I want you to know, even now that he is gone, I will keep you safe. I would like to marry you still, if you’ll have me.”

Sansa smiled at him, this young man who didn’t even know who she really was. When she was a girl, she would have died for a chance to marry a man like Harrold Hardyng. He was handsome, brave, and after some initial missteps, very gallant toward her. But she had survived King’s Landing, where the lions had tried to tear her apart, and she had survived Littlefinger, and learned what she could from the man. She didn’t intend to marry Harry for love, because she didn’t love him. Maybe she could someday, but she didn’t care too deeply about that for now. She knew he wouldn’t hit her or torture her as Joffrey had, and he had things that she needed, namely, he had the knights of the Vale behind him. That was enough for her now.

She leaned up on her toes and kissed him, right there in the training yard.

“Of course I’ll still have you. But I meant what I said about leaving your other girls behind when you marry me.”

He grinned a little sheepishly. He had a bit of a reputation, and even at just twenty one years of age, he had already sired two bastard children. Sansa would make sure he took care of the children, but she didn’t care to have their mothers around.

“Good,” he said. “When shall we be married?”

_ As soon as we can _ , thought Sansa.

“Harry, my father has just died. We’ll have to wait at least a fortnight, as I am still in mourning.”

He looked at her black dress.

“Of course. You’re right, of course.”

Over the next week, the lords, ladies, and knights of the Vale all arrived to the Gates of the Moon, just as they had done not two months before for the tourney. Now, of course, they came for the funeral of Petyr Baelish. Few of them had actually liked him, but it was only proper for them to attend the Lord Protector’s funeral. 

Robert Arryn had been in better spirits since Sansa had arranged the tourney and given Robert the eight knights to guard him. He was a little glum about Littlefinger’s death, but he cheered up considerably when Sansa took him to the wall so they could watch all the knights arriving, with their banners flying high above them. They watched them all come, the Redforts and the Hunters, the Corbrays and the Royces.

Bronze Yohn Royce and Lady Anya Waynwood, along with the rest of the Lords Declarant who had opposed Littlefinger, all seemed pleased to have him gone at last. They all bowed to young Lord Robert and patted his shoulder. It had been decided that Robert and his guards would stay with Lord Nestor Royce at the Gates of the Moon until Robert came of age. Then he could take his place in the Eyrie as Lord of the Vale.

Harry had grown up as Lady Anya’s ward in the Ironoaks Castle. As soon as she had arrived at the Gates, he had taken her aside to speak in private. Sansa assumed he was asking her about marrying Sansa within the next two weeks. Lady Anya had already approved of the match, and was fond of Sansa. Harry returned from his talk with Lady Anya with a smile on his face, so Sansa assumed it had gone well.

They interned Littlefinger’s body in the crypts of the Gates, and two days later, Harry announced that he would wed Alayne Stone in a week’s time. Harry was the heir to the Eyrie and Sansa was believed to be a bastard girl, but she was beautiful and well-liked in the Vale, so the knights cheered for them. Young Robert Arryn pouted a little at the news, however. He didn’t want Sansa to leave him.

The night before the wedding, Sansa walked through the halls and staircases until she found Harry’s room in the Falcon Tower. She knocked on the door, and he answered it, wearing just his smallclothes.

“Lady Alayne,” he said, rather surprised. He leaned out into the hallway as if worried someone would see them and then stood to the side so she could enter.

“I was hoping we could talk,” she said.

“Please.” He gestured for her to take a seat on the bed, and then pulled out a small wooden chair for himself. 

“There’s something I need to tell you, something I’ve been too afraid to tell anyone,” she said, making her voice small and looking down at her hands. 

Harry put his hand on hers. 

She smiled and continued. “You see, I’m- I’m not Lord Baelish’s daughter. He was protecting me, and then, after he died, I didn’t know what I would do. But you’ve been so kind to me. I hope you won’t think less of me for lying. I wasn’t trying to deceive you. I was just so scared, but I can’t let you marry me tomorrow without knowing who I really am.”

Harry looked utterly confused now, but he let her finish.

“My name isn’t Alayne Stone. I’m Sansa Stark, daughter of Ned Stark, and the heir to Winterfell.” She raised her chin a little as she said it. It felt good to say her own name again.

Harry leaned back in his chair.

“Sansa Stark,” he repeated. 

She gave him a few seconds to think about that.

“Are you telling me that when we first met, I told the Lady of Winterfell that I wanted nothing to do with her because I thought she was Littlefinger’s bastard?”

“You did,” she said, smirking a little.

“Seven hells. I’m an idiot.”

“You aren’t angry?” she asked.

“Angry?” He leaned forward and touched her face. “I liked you well enough as Alayne Stone, but now I get to marry Sansa Stark of Winterfell. I’m elated.”

There was a knock on the door and without thinking, Harry invited them in. Sansa’s and Harry’s eyes both went wide as Lady Anya entered the room. She looked over the two of them and made a noise deep in her throat.

“I think the two of you should be able to wait until tomorrow night,” she said sternly.

Sansa jumped to her feet.

“Of course, Lady Anya. I’m sorry. We were just talking.”

Lady Anya went over and put an arm around Sansa’s shoulder.

“There will be plenty of talking to be done tomorrow. Now go get some sleep. I need to speak to my ward about a few matters of business before he retires.”

Sansa nodded and headed back to her rooms.

*** 

Arya didn’t know what to do. Scream or cry or vomit or run away, she didn’t know. She was a Faceless Man. She was one of the most dangerous people in the world, but all she felt was fear and horror as she looked at the figure in the hooded robe. She had seen death. She had known death. This was far worse.

“What-? What did you do to her?” Her voice sounded small, as if she were a little child again.

“We found her by the river, after- after the red wedding. Beric Dondarrion, well, he gave his life to bring her back,” said Thoros. He couldn’t meet Arya’s eyes.

The figure stepped forward and pulled down her hood. She was a corpse, not a person. Her skin and hair were dead, her throat was slit, and her face was covered in deep scratches. None of those were the worst part, though. The worst was her eyes. They were the same Tully blue that they had always been, but they were cold, hard, unfeeling, even as they looked at Arya.

This was not her mother. It was not Catelyn Stark. It was some horrid imitation, just a shell of the woman she had been. Arya felt something on her cheek. She reached up and felt hot tears leaking out of her eyes. She couldn’t stop herself from crying. 

The corpse reached out and Arya flinched away. The corpse lowered her hand.

Harlin walked over to the corpse and listened as it said something in a raspy whisper to him.

“She wants some time alone,” he told the other men. They backed away, retreating into the snow. Thoros gave Arya one last look over his shoulder before he, too, disappeared into the trees, leaving Arya alone with the corpse.

Arya shook her head.

The corpse came closer and touched Arya on the shoulder. It covered the gaping wound on its neck with a pale hand and whispered to her. It was hard to understand, but Arya could make out some of the words.

“I killed them,” Arya told the corpse. “I killed all of them. Walder Frey, his sons, his grandsons. They’re all gone. You can rest now.”

The corpse shook its head. It leaned forward.

“More. There are more,” it said.

“No,” said Arya.

“Kill them. Kill them all.”

Arya’s tears were rolling faster down her face. She was more scared now than she ever been, and sadder than she had ever been. This wasn’t her mother. This was a creature eaten away by vengeance.

In Braavos, at the House of Black and White, the Faceless Men had said that death was a gift. Many people journeyed to the temple to receive it. Some were old. Some sick. Some just didn’t want to go on living. They always looked so peaceful when they were done. The Faceless Men said they had gone to the Many-Faced God. 

Arya looked down and saw that she had dropped Needle into the snow. She moved closer to the corpse and embraced it. She kissed its clammy, soft cheek, and then took out the dagger from her belt.

She gave the gift to the corpse.

***

In the morning, Sansa rose and began to prepare herself for the wedding. Myranda Royce and Mya Stone came in to talk with her and to help her, along with the maids. Myranda was speaking boisterously about wedding nights, in a way that made the other two giggle and sometimes blush. Sansa went with the maids in to the washroom, leaving Mya and Myranda in the bedchambers, and washed all the brown dye from her hair, revealing the auburn underneath.

When she came out, Myranda had her back to Sansa, but she noticed Mya’s expression and turned around. 

“I’m afraid I have been deceiving you, my friends,” she said, and she told them her real name.

“Sansa Stark, why you rotten liar!” exclaimed Myranda, though she grinned as she said it. “You can do much better than Harrold Hardyng, you know that?”

Sansa laughed at that. She knew Myranda had quite wanted Harry for herself.

Mya was a bit more muted and a little awkward. She had always been better at dealing with mules than people.

“Right, so you’re not a Stone anymore,” she said.

Sansa hugged her.

“I’m a Stark. I always have been and I always will be. But the two of you have made my time here, living as a Stone, so much better.”

The maids dressed Sansa in a white gown of soft lambswool and then placed the maiden’s cloak over her shoulders. The maiden’s cloak always showed the colors of the girl’s family, and Sansa was proud to finally wear the grey and white of House Stark again, with a direwolf embroidered across the back.

“You look beautiful,” said Mya.

Sansa looked at the mirror. She looked like Sansa again.

They walked to the sept in the Gates where Lord Nestor Royce was waiting to escort her. Traditionally, it would have been Robert Arryn, but the maester was worried about the boy’s shaking sickness, and so the role had fallen to Lord Nestor. His eyes widened when he saw her hair and cloak, but they didn’t have much time to discuss it. The doors of the sept opened and he offered her his arm.

There were a few quiet gasps and whispers as Sansa walked with Lord Royce across the sept.

“Stark?” she heard them say, and “Could it be?”

Harry stood on a dais with the septon, looking rather splendid in a red doublet. He smiled at her and she thought about how she had dreamed of this day as a girl. She actually felt her heart flutter a bit at the sight of him. She climbed the stairs of the dais and stood beside Harry. The septon began the prayers of the Seven, but Sansa could pay little attention to them. She felt almost giddy. She had been married once before, in a sept in King’s Landing to Tyrion Lannister. That day, she had been full of dread - though, in truth, Tyrion had turned out to be very kind throughout their chaste and short marriage. Today, though, she was Sansa Stark again, a harder and more cunning Sansa than she had been before, but Sansa Stark nonetheless. And she was marrying a gallant knight, who liked her and who had a large army that followed him.

The septon finished speaking, and Lord Nestor stepped up and removed the maiden’s cloak from Sansa’s shoulders. She was a little sad to lose it, but she would always be a Stark, in blood if not in name. Harry removed his own cloak, which had the red and white diamonds of House Hardyng and draped it over her. Then together they repeated the words after the Septon.

“With this kiss I pledge my love.”

“And take you as my lord and husband,” said Sansa.

“And take you as my lady and wife,” said Harry.

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,” said the septon. 

Harry leaned forward and kissed her, and Sansa felt herself smile as he did so.

***

Arya cried for a long time, sitting in the snow and holding the body of her mother. She felt cold and lost and small again. But the longer she held her mother, the more the corpse began to look like Catelyn Stark again. In death, the eyes didn’t look so angry anymore. They looked like the eyes Arya had once known so well. Arya took one of her blankets from the horse’s saddlebag and wrapped up the body inside it. She would take Catelyn back to Winterfell and put her in the crypts with the rest of her family. She heaved the body up onto the horse and tied it to the saddle. Then she climbed on, as well.

It wasn’t fair. None of it had ever been fair - not when her father had been executed for a crime he didn’t commit, not when Robb and her mother had been murdered at a wedding, not when Theon Greyjoy had killed her younger brothers, not when Sansa became trapped in the lion’s den of King’s Landing. This, though,  _ this _ was the cruelest trick the gods had ever played. After the Red Wedding, Arya had wanted nothing more than to see her mother again. Years later she finally got her wish, and it was she most wretched and twisted thing she could imagine.

Catelyn Stark had deserved better than this. She deserved peace, and Arya hoped that she had finally given it to her. She nudged the horse and it walked forward along the Kingsroad, heading ever northward.

Arya didn’t want to be no one anymore. She wanted to be Arya Stark again. She wanted to go home.


	32. Strange Allies

Stannis Baratheon’s camp lay half a day’s ride outside of Winterfell, in the crofter’s village, but it was the worth the ride to be able to see the castle again. It had been years since Jon had laid eyes upon the walls, and he found himself quite moved by the mere sight of it. His emotions were growing a little stronger as he came closer to it, as they had with Bran. The last time Jon had been home, his family had been complete. His father had been alive, and his brother Robb. His sisters had been safe, though constantly torturing each other. Now, it was just him and Bran, locked out of their own home and only able to stand outside and watch the snow fall around it. 

Roose Bolton and his newly legitimized son, Ramsay, held the castle. It was a great advantage to them with the winter storms beginning to come down hard on the land.

Stannis had allied with the northern mountain clans, as Jon had suggested to him. They were loyal to Ned Stark, even after his death, and they wanted to see a Stark back in Winterfell. Bran, and Jon as well, received a warm welcome from them all, as warm as they could get. The mountain clans knew how to survive the northern winters well enough, but even so, it was hard on them. They had only tents and rough huts to sleep in and only the clothes they brought with them. They hunted what they could and made boots and cloaks from the furs, but the truth of it was that they were running out of food. Stannis said that some had even resorted to cannibalizing the dead to survive.

Jon turned his horse away from the castle and rode back to the crofter’s village. It was a simple enough place, sitting in the wolfswood to the west of Winterfell. Calling it a village was quite generous in Jon’s opinion. It consisted of a few little huts, none of which were well insulated from the cold, and a watchtower, with a flaming beacon on the top. The village was situated between two lakes, a smaller southern one and a larger northern one, which had a small island in the center. On the little island grew a tall white weirwood tree.

Jon looked across the icy lake and could see the figures of Bran and Meera in the distance, sitting beneath the weirwood tree with the two direwolves. Bran spent most of his time sitting at the weirwood. He said that he thought being near the tree might make his greenseer visions more coherent, but so far he hadn’t had much luck. All he saw were scattered images and flashes of emotion. Stannis had been mildly curious about Bran’s greensight at first, but when Bran failed to give him any usable information, he dismissed it all as silly northern superstition. Jon was a little worried that Stannis and the other southron lords may even try to burn the weirwood as a sacrifice to their Lord of Light.

Jon gave his shaggy little garron to Hodor, who had been given the job of looking after the horses, the few that were still alive. Hodor seemed quite pleased to be away from the Wall and close to Winterfell again, though, of course, he never said so in quite so many words. Jon nodded to him and went into the watchtower, which had been converted into both a prison and a meeting room. Stannis sat inside with a mix of southron and northern lords, all clustered around a small table.

“Well?” said Stannis, when Jon entered.

“They’re sending the vanguard out tomorrow. I saw them getting the horses and weapons ready, about five hundred men, maybe more,” said Jon.

“Good. And you’re sure they won’t come tonight?”

“Put more guards up if you like, but they won’t ride out in the dark, not in this weather.”

It was hard enough to see the terrain even in the daylight. Thick snow blanketed the ground, covering the village, the lakes, and all the forest around them. The watchtower beacon was the only thing visible from a distance.

Stannis gave Jon a quick nod, and went back to his discussions with the lords. Jon left them and climbed up the stairs to the second level of the watchtower, where the prisoners were kept. Asha Greyjoy stood in one corner, with manacles around her ankles, so that she could only take small steps. It allowed her to walk around, but not to run or climb stairs. She reminded Jon of a caged hawk the way she sometimes paced around the room. She looked a bit like one, too, with sharp, dark eyes and a long nose.

Next to Asha was the man who had once been her brother, Theon Greyjoy. Jon didn’t know what to make of him now. He had hated Theon for a long time and blamed him for a great many things, but it was difficult to hate this wretched creature. Now, Theon inspired little else but pity. He was only a few years older than Jon, but his time with Ramsay Bolton left Theon looking like a man of fifty. He was gaunt, frail, and painfully timid, missing fingers, toes, teeth, and Jon suspected other parts, as well. His hair had turned white and brittle. He said little now, and just stared out the window at the snow.

Alysane Mormont was set on guard duty, and watched over them. She and Asha had grown quite fond each other. Though Asha was their prisoner, Alysane liked to take her out on the frozen lake so the two could go ice fishing together.

Jeyne Poole sat with them, as well, not as a prisoner, but she seemed comforted by Theon’s presence. Ramsay’s cruelty was less obvious on her than it had been on Theon. She wasn’t missing body parts, her hair was still brown, and she still looked young and healthy enough. Nonetheless, she still carried the abuse with her. She shied away when people tried to touch her and Alysane said she cried at night. She was safe, though, for now at least.

Jon sat on the floor next to Alysane.

“Are they coming?” she asked him.

“Tomorrow,” he said quietly. He looked at Jeyne and saw her flinch as if she had been struck. “We’ll keep you safe,” he told her, and she nodded, but didn’t look at him.

“Will they let me fight?” asked Asha.

“I doubt it,” said Jon. He didn’t think Stannis would ever put a sword or an ax in the hand of a woman he considered an enemy.

“Look at what that monster did to my brother. Do you really think I would side with the Boltons in the battle? I’m no friend of Stannis, that’s true, but give me a blade, and I’ll kill every Bolton man who gets in my way.”

“It isn’t my decision,” Jon said.

Asha glared at him as if it were.

“You’ll all be safe here,” he repeated, as if saying it again would make it true.

***

The sun rose over the crofter’s village - not that they could see it behind the thick grey clouds - but the world became lighter around them. Hodor carried Bran up to the top of the watchtower, to wait out the battle with the Greyjoys and Jeyne Poole. Meera and Alysane stayed with them, for the slight chance that the Bolton vanguard managed to slip into the watchtower, they could defend the stairwell. Jon had a suspicion that as soon as the fighting began, Alysane would free Asha so she could help them guard the watchtower, as well.

Jon had been up and working hours before dawn, getting the village ready for the battle. They built a large pyre on one of the small islands in the northern lake and set up some small wooden huts around it. They snuffed out the watchtower beacon, and then lit the pyre on the lake. They set up catapults around the northern bank of the lake and had nearly a whole battalion of men and women out in the woods to guard them.

It was snowing hard as the day came and continued to snow hard as they waited for the vanguard to arrive. Not much could be seen through the thick snow, but the pyre on the island was well visible. From a distance it looked just like the watchtower beacon.

The village itself was mostly empty. All the fighters had moved into the woods and around the lake, waiting.

Around noon they heard the signal. One of the northmen scouts whistled like an owl and the call carried around the forest, letting the army know the Bolton vanguard had arrived. Jon drew Longclaw and moved through the trees to get closer to the lake. He watched the pyre burning in the center of it. 

The vanguard rode forward, and then when they were within a few hundred feet of the pyre, they charged. Over four hundred mounted warriors raced forward, weapons drawn and shouting. They ran toward the pyre and toward the fake little huts set out on the lake. The snow was so thick, they couldn’t see that it was ice they were running out on and not solid ground.

Stannis waited for them all to move out onto the frozen lake.

“Fire,” he said.

They released the catapults. Large chunks of rock arced up into the air and them came crashing down over the lake, shattering the ice. The ice that didn’t immediately break began to crack around the vanguard. Jon saw the first horse and rider fall through, and then whole groups of them began to tumble into the icy waters. Many of the horses screamed and threw off their riders, bolting away in every direction. More volleys of rock were sent from the catapults and more ice shattered beneath the cavalry. A few men managed to keep their seats and raced for the bank. Stannis’ army had surrounded the lake, however, and any man who made it to the edge was shot down with arrows.

Soon enough the Bolton men were all either bleeding out on top of the water or drowning beneath it. Stannis’ army gave a cheer.

“That was an easy victory. The next one will not be. Round up any horses still alive and put them with our own,” said Stannis, not one to revel in his triumphs. There were greater and far more difficult battles ahead of them.

***

As Sycorax flew lower in the sky, the island of Dragonstone began to take form beneath them. It had been formed by volcanoes and was covered in mountains and cliffsides. The air smelled of sulfur and seawater as they approached. The Dragonmont, the greatest volcano on the island, rose up higher than the other peaks, venting out great puffs of grey smoke. Tucked into its base was the fortress of Dragonstone, sitting on a cliff over the beach. It was the place Dany where had been born and where her family had once ruled, though it was grim enough by the look of it, covered with snarling stone dragons and heavy fortifications. All around the castle and the volcano spread several villages of the smallfolk.

Stannis Baratheon had held the island for years, but with him away fighting in the north, the Tyrells had taken it. Dany could see their ships, bobbing in the water, with flags and sails that showed a yellow rose on a green field.

Sycorax circled the fortress a few times, with the two wights swinging below her, and then landed in Aegon’s garden, which looked more like a barren courtyard than an actual garden. All the flowers were dead or dormant and all the bushes covered in a light layer of snow. A black iron statue of a dragon rearing up on its hind legs stood in the center of the garden, glaring down at them with obsidian eyes. Sycorax sniffed it for a moment and then turned away. The wights pulled forward at their chains, trying to run for the nearby towers and halls, but Sycorax kept her foot over the straps that held them.

Tyrell guards began to run out into the garden with their spears and shields raised. They kept at least ten yards between themselves and the dragon, though, looking at each other as if not sure what to do next.

“Put your weapons down, you silly fools. Do you think you’re going to defeat a grown dragon?” said a snappy voice from behind them.

An old woman with a cane came walking out after the guards. She was smaller even than Irri and looked very frail, but the men jumped to follow her commands as if she were a giantess. She wore a cloak in the green and gold colors of House Tyrell. She walked up, closer than any of the guards, but still kept her distance from the dragon and the wights. The wights lunged at her, snapping their teeth, but she didn’t flinch. Instead she simply looked curiously up at Dany.

“Lady Tyrell, I presume?” said Dany. Sycorax lowered her body so Dany could be a little closer to the old woman.

“I am. But you may call me Olenna. There’s no need to ask who you are. Daenerys Targaryen, the Dragon Queen. Now, what in the seven hells are these creatures?” She gestured a wrinkled hand at the wights.

Dany undid the leg straps of her saddle and climbed off of Sycorax.

“They are the reason I have come to you. May we speak inside?”

Olenna nodded her head and waved the guards away, all but two, who seemed to be her personal protectors and also looked to be twins.

“Oh, don’t mind Left and Right. They don’t get in the way too terribly much,” she said, as they turned and went into the Stone Drum, a massive tower in the center of the castle. 

“Left and Right?” Dany asked.

“Arryk Inchfield, my lady,” said one. “And my brother, Erryk Inchfield. Lady Olenna prefers to use nicknames for us.”

Dany could understand why Olenna might get them mixed up. The two of them helped Lady Olenna climb the stairs of the tower, though she was quicker and more agile at it than Dany would have thought. She wondered for a moment if Olenna really needed that cane of hers.

They came out in the Chamber of the Painted Table, a room Viserion had told Dany about long ago. It sat at the very top of the Stone Drum, looking out on the sea and the island below, with windows on all sides. In the center, taking up most of the room, sat a massive wooden table, carved and painted into a map of Westeros. Where the island of Dragonstone would be on the map, sat a raised seat from which the whole map could be viewed. There was a young man currently sitting in the Dragonstone chair, pondering the map, but when they entered, he stood and came over to them.

The man was very beautiful, with curly light brown hair and brown eyes. He moved gracefully and wore a splendid doublet embroidered with golden thread.

“My grandson, Loras. This is Daenerys Targaryen,” said Olenna, taking a seat next to Dorne on the map table.

“You look quite well in spite of your injuries,” said Dany. “In King’s Landing, all the young ladies could speak about was that the fine and handsome Loras Tyrell had been badly burnt on Dragonstone. They said your good looks had been destroyed and you were clinging to your deathbed. But I must say, you are the healthiest looking dying man I’ve ever seen.” She was exaggerating quite a bit. After all, she had only spent a few short hours in King’s Landing, and had only heard one mention of Loras and his injuries, but flattery could be an effective tool.

“I apologize for the deception,” he said with a gracious bow.

“Does your sister know of it?”

“It was her idea.” He turned and pulled out a chair next to Olenna for Dany to sit in.

Dany took her seat and asked, “To what end?” 

Olenna answered her. “The Lannisters may be our allies for now, but they are a family of snakes, not of lions. You could say the tensions between us have been growing stronger in recent months, especially with this ridiculous ordeal from those religious fanatics. We thought it would be useful to keep some of our advantages hidden from them. Loras did receive an injury when we took Dragonstone, though it was just a small burn on his arm.”

Loras pulled up his sleeve to show a small, shiny burn scar on his left forearm.

“I don’t suppose we could ask you not to mention my good health to the Lannisters,” he said.

Dany smiled. “I have more important things to do than to spread gossip to the Lannisters. They are not my favorite family - well, Tyrion I quite like - but we have far greater enemies than them.” She rose and walked around the table to stand by the painted line of the Wall.

“Do you know what lies in the far north?” she asked.

Olenna’s eyes looked bright as she watched Dany.

“A lot of snow from what I hear,” said Loras.

“You should take a good look at the creatures that I brought with me. They aren’t so terrifying when they are bound and shackled and when there are only two of them. But there aren’t just two of them beyond the Wall. There are hundreds of thousands, if not more. The army of the dead has awoken in the north and they are coming for us all.”

Loras looked skeptical.

Dany nodded her head at the door and went back down the stairs with Loras behind her. Olenna said she would make her own way down, a bit slower than them.

Sycorax had laid down in the courtyard next to the dragon statue. The wights were biting at her leg, making absolutely no impact on her armored scales, but when Loras and Dany came out, they charged, lurching to a stop as their bindings held them. Sycorax raised her head to look at Loras and then set it back down, uninterested.

Loras’ eyes were wide as he looked at them.

“What are they?”

“Up north, they call them the wights. They’re dead, brought back to life by the Others.”

“The Others are just children’s stories,” he said.

Dany gave him a sharp look. They were standing in a garden with a dragon and two reanimated dead men. Loras’ face looked a bit pale as his eyes flicked from the dragon to the wights and back. Olenna joined them, still unruffled by it all.

“Why did you bring them here?” asked Loras.

“Because these things have very few weakness, but one of the things that will kill them is obsidian. You are currently sitting on the largest deposit of obsidian on this side of the Narrow Sea.”

“Yes, we’ve been mining it to ship and sell in the Free Cities.”

“Not anymore. I’d like you to mine it for me, and ship it to White Harbor.”

Loras looked like he might object, but Olenna put a hand on his shoulder. He still was a bit stunned.

“Won’t the Wall hold them all back?” he asked. One of the wights growled and yanked hard against the straps that held it. Its pale blue eyes were focused on Loras.

“I doubt it. The Others are building up for an invasion. I don’t think they would do so unless they knew they could get past the Wall. We can’t rely on that. We have to fight them. Will you do this? Guard the island and mine the dragonglass?”

“We will,” said Olenna. 

Loras looked at his grandmother and nodded. “We can send a shipful out today, and more within the week.”

Dany smiled. Loras turned and went back into the castle to begin the preparations, but Olenna stayed outside with Dany.

“Will you depart today?” she asked.

“Yes, I must fly to King’s Landing next.” Dany went over to Sycorax, avoiding the side that the wights were on and began to check over the saddle, making sure everything was properly fastened and tightened for her journey

“I am beginning to doubt my granddaughter’s safety in that place.”

“She seems like a clever woman,” said Dany.

“Even clever women can get into trouble. This… business with the Sparrows.” 

Dany looked up at Olenna. They called her the Queen of Thorns in King’s Landing for her sharp wit and even sharper tongue. She was a tough old woman, that much was obvious, but Dany could see the genuine worry on her face.

“Would you like me to bring her here?” Dany asked.

“She won’t want to come. She is determined to be queen someday. And she would make quite a good one.”

“I think you’re right about that. But King Tommen is a little boy. She can become queen when the boy comes of age. I may be able to persuade her to leave.”

Olenna looked over Sycorax. “Yes, I imagine you are quite persuasive with that dragon of yours.” She paused. “Well, I don’t want you to force her to come here. But offer, if you would.”

“Of course.” Dany finished checking the saddle and walked back to Lady Olenna. The old woman reached out and took Dany’s hands.

“I’m almost sorry to see you go. You’re the most interesting person I’ve had to talk to since I left Margaery in King’s Landing. I would like to hear more about you someday.”

“And I you.”

Olenna let go and Dany climbed up into the dragon’s saddle. King’s Landing was next, and then the Stormlands.


	33. North and South

The journey north was bleak and cold for Arya. She didn’t stop at any more inns or taverns. She didn’t want to explain the body she carried with her, rolled up in the blanket. The only small mercy was that the weather was icy enough to freeze Catelyn’s body, halting all further decay. If Arya didn’t think about it, she could almost pretend that it was just a cold, stuffed blanket on the back of the horse and not her dead mother. 

Arya drew close to Moat Cailin, in the northern part of the Neck. And every night she dreamed of wolves.

Moat Cailin was held by the Boltons now, that much she knew. They had killed all the Ironborn and taken the ruins of the old fortress for themselves. They made it nearly impossible to enter the North without their permission, unless of course you had a dragon or a massive army with you. Arya had neither. The Kingsroad was surrounded by thick swamps and bogs, making it too dangerous to ride around Moat Cailin. She could try to slip by during the night, but she doubted her luck. No, she would have to kill a guard and use his face to get through. 

She waited until nightfall. The moon was bright, which made it easier to observe the guards, though it also meant they might spot her more easily, as well. She stood just off of the Kingsroad and observed the fortress from the forest. She needed to get closer. She tied the horse to a tree and crept slowly out of the woods, staying low to the ground and using the rocks and bushes for cover.

There was a faint howl from a wolf in the distance, then another, much closer.

Arya was about a hundred yards from the back walls of Moat Cailin and she stopped and ducked down when she saw a guard pass by. The fortress had once been quite glorious, but it had fallen into disrepair and ruin after sitting abandoned for so long. Many of the walls were broken or incomplete, though they still provided a decent amount of protection from invaders.

The guard stopped, squinting out at the marsh around him. Arya froze, pressing herself as close to the cold ground as she could. Her vision was obscured by the grasses, but she dared not raise her head to watch him. She heard the guard take a few steps forward, but then there was a snarling sound and the man began to scream. Arya pushed herself up on her arms and saw that a little black wolf had jumped onto the man and latched itself to his throat. The man thrashed and fell beneath the wolf and then two more wolves ran forward. They grabbed the man with their teeth and ripped him into pieces.

Arya stood. She needed to leave, needed to run back to her horse, but she felt frozen in place. She heard more screams arise from Moat Cailin, accompanied by an eruption of wolf howls. There must be a hundred of them, the largest pack she had ever heard. She should really run. Instead, Arya closed her eyes and felt a new emotion replace her fear.

When she opened her eyes, she was not in her own body, but in the body of a giant wolf. She felt angry and hungry and she ran through the fortress, ripping men apart with her teeth. Some of the men tried to grab for their weapons, but the smaller wolves all around her jumped for them, biting their wrists and their throats. One man managed to get a bow in his hand and shoot a little grey wolf down with an arrow. Three more wolves leapt on the man, killing him quickly. Through the giant wolf’s eyes, Arya could see the Bolton banners of the flayed man, alongside several actual flayed men hanging from the walls. There were other flags there, as well, the horse head of House Ryswell and the crossed axes of House Dustin. They had been her father and her brother’s bannermen once, but they were traitors, joining with the Boltons. She and the wolves killed them all. She stood, panting, for a moment as the other wolves gathered around her. Then, she ran outside of the fortress, crossing the marsh and stopping in front of the body of a girl - her own body, she realized.

Arya blinked and felt herself return to her body. A giant grey wolf stood before her, staring at her with golden eyes. Arya reached forward and touched the direwolf, finding the fur was matted and damp with blood. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Nymeria, the wolf she had lost so long ago.

“Let’s go home,” she said.

Nymeria licked her face.

***

Jon stood with Bran beneath the carved face of the weirwood tree. The lake had frozen over once again, after the attack by the Bolton vanguard, though it wasn’t as thick as it had been before. They had to be very careful crossing it to the island of the weirwood, but Bran had insisted.

Meera was sitting with her legs crossed, fletching a bunch of arrows with some crow feathers she had found. She was quick at doing it, her fingers working nimbly despite the cold. Jon had built a small fire for them, but the air seemed to suck the heat from the fire before it could even reach them. Jon sat by Bran, who was away in his visions, and watched Meera work. He had yet to find a weapon that she wasn’t good at using. She had proved herself to be a skilled archer, she was quick with her knife and her net, and Bran had told Jon that she used to have three pronged spear that she used to catch fish and small game. She carried a sword on her back, but Jon realized he had never seen her wield it, or even take it from her scabbard.

“Can I see that sword of yours?” he asked her.

Meera looked up. She set aside the arrow she had been working on and unsheathed the blade, handing it over to him. It was an arming sword, a little shorter and slimmer than most, and lighter weight. The hilt was made of rough black iron and wrapped in leather, with no ornamentation of any kind. The blade, though, showed black ripples against the dark grey metal.

“This is Valyrian steel,” said Jon.

Meera nodded. “It was in the cave of the three-eyed crow. I took it when we fled, thought it might be useful. I didn’t even realize what it was at the time. Can you tell which sword it is?”

Valyrian steel, small and lightweight. It was a magnificent blade, though Jon would have expected a more ornate hilt. This simple one must have been a replacement.

“Dark Sister. This is Visenya Targaryen’s old sword,” he said.

Meera nodded again. 

Jon handed it back to her and said, “It’s a good sword. Why haven’t you used it?”

“I’ve never really used a sword before.”

Jon stood, drawing Longclaw. “Well, you’re good with a knife. Come on, I’ll show you a few sword forms.”

Meera got up and held Dark Sister in front of her. Her footing was perfect, though she wanted to hold the sword like she held her dagger. Swords were too heavy to be wielded in the same way, so Jon corrected her hand on the hilt. She stood beside him and copied the movements he showed her. Then they faced each other. The swords were both sharp, unlike the dull-edged training blades, so they moved slowly, not actually trying to injure each other. 

The first time the swords clashed together, a sound rang out from them, like a scream and a song all at once. Jon and Meera paused for a moment, but then went back to their slow sparring, sending out clanging waves of the sound across the lake.

Eventually they tired and went back to the fire next to Bran. Under the tree, Bran opened his eyes.

“Anything?” asked Jon, not expecting much from Bran’s visions, but today Bran nodded. He even had a small smile on his face.

“We’re going to defeat the Boltons,” he said.

***

The Red Keep rose up above King’s Landing, sitting atop Aegon’s High Hill. Dany and Sycorax circled it once, watching the guards below. She landed in front of the Great Hall. This time, the gold cloaks and the royal guards did not surround her. They had either accepted that Sycorax could destroy them or they, like Cersei, thought Dany was more of a nuisance than a threat. She let them think so, as it worked well in her favor.

“What in the seven hells are those?” asked one of the guards, as Dany got down from Sycorax and began climbing the steps to the Great Hall. He was looking at the wights.

“Dead men walking,” she said.

She entered the Great Hall, finding young King Tommen sitting upon the tall Iron Throne with Queen Cersei just beside him. Cersei hair had grown out a little longer than it had been before, now falling just past her ears, but her scowl at Dany was much the same. On Tommen’s other side stood the High Sparrow, barefoot and ragged. There was a large crowd of nobles gathered around - Dany recognized Mace Tyrell and Randyll Tarly among them - and a supplicant speaking before Tommen, though he went silent when Dany entered. Margaery Tyrell was absent, still awaiting her trial, Dany thought.

Dany walked down the aisle through the court of nobles and stood before the throne. She bowed.

“Forgive my interruption, King Tommen, but I fear it cannot wait,” she said.

Tommen glanced from his mother to the High Sparrow. “That’s quite alright, Lady Daenerys. Please, speak.”

Dany smiled. The king was certainly more polite than both his mother and the leader of the Faith. Courtesy did not inherently make one a good king, though Dany thought it at least helped. And it made the boy much more pleasant to speak to. Cersei was glaring at Dany, but she gave a tight nod of her head.

“I wonder if you would accompany me outside. I have brought you something from the North,” Dany said.

“A gift?” asked Tommen, climbing carefully down from his throne.

“Unfortunately not so. I doubt you will like this.”

“Your Grace, I would advise you not to listen to this witch and her deceits,” said the High Sparrow. 

Tommen continued down to Dany, though, and the two led the way outside, with the court, Cersei, and the High Sparrow following behind in spite of themselves.

Tommen flinched away immediately when he saw the wights, snarling and snapping their teeth at him. His kingsguard immediately drew their swords and ran between him and the wights. Sycorax brought her head round, making sure the guards all kept their distance.

“They scare you,” said Dany, putting a hand on Tommen’s shoulder. “That’s good. They scare me, too. This is what lies north of the Wall. They aren’t stories or lies. The Others are real and this is what they create. You will be safe here in your southern castle, for a time, but if the Night’s Watch does not receive aid, the Others will take the North and then they will march for you.”

Tommen looked up at her, his eyes wide and scared.

“Oh, this is ridiculous. It is obviously a trick,” said Cersei.

“She is a heretic and a sorceress of no small power. I would wager that she created these monsters herself with dark magic,” said the High Sparrow.

Dany could hear the court all around whispering their own opinions on what the wights truly were and what Dany’s motivations could be.

“She wants the throne for herself,” was said more than a few times.

Dany tried to ignore them. She just needed Tommen and the Tyrells to believe her. She looked over at Mace Tyrell and Randyll Tarly. Mace had his mouth open and his hand on his chest, while Randyll just frowned at the wights.

“Ask one of your guards to stab his sword through its head,” Dany told Tommen, gesturing to a wight.

Tommen did so, and one of the white-cloaked kingsguard stepped forward. The wights lunged for the man, but were stopped by their bindings. The guard took his sword and stabbed it through the eye of one and then quickly pulled it out and backed away. The wight continued to hiss and pull at the leathers that held him. His wound did not bleed and only left a hole where his eye had been.

“Your Grace, you must send your armies north,” said Dany.

“You would leave my son undefended while your own nephew marches to dethrone him?” hissed Cersei. She grabbed Tommen’s arm and pulled him back from Dany. “This is a trick,” she said again.

“Arrest this traitorous witch, now!” called the High Sparrow. 

Several of the other Sparrows moved through the crowd toward Dany, but Sycorax bellowed at them and breathed a plume of fire up into the air. The Sparrows, the nobles, and the guards all shrank back from the dragon.

Dany looked back at Tommen one last time and then climbed onto Sycorax. She shook her head a little as the dragon flew up into the air. 

They would have to try again.

***

That night, Dany found the Tyrells and their men housed in one of the many drum towers of the Red Keep. Sycorax flew her to one of the tower windows, hovering just in front of it. Dany climbed on her hands and knees over Sycorax’s neck and onto the dragon’s head, and then she jumped. She caught the windowsill with her hands and pulled herself into an empty chamber. She walked through the halls to the room where she had seen Mace, where two Tyrell guards were waiting outside. They looked startled to find her inside the tower, and they kept their spears crossed in front of the door.

“Tell Lord Mace I must speak with him,” said Dany.

The guards looked at one another and then one slipped inside the door. After a few moments, he opened the doors and nodded for her to enter.

Dany went down a short hallway and into a meeting room, where Mace and Margaery Tyrell, Randyll Tarly, and a few others were seated around a table. Margaery smiled when she saw Dany, but the others were more reserved.

“My Lords. My Lady,” she said to them.

“Left your horrors outside, have you?” said Randyll in his gruff, growling voice.

“I have, Lord Randyll. I’m sorry if they frightened you.” She and Margaery smiled at each other as Randyll’s scowl grew deeper. Dany silently reminded herself to stay polite. She needed the Tyrells and their bannermen as allies.

“They frighten me quite a lot, but that is why I have come. I have seen the thousands, the millions of them that lurk above the Wall. The Night’s Watch alone cannot hold them off. The North alone cannot do it. You have a great army and I hear you are both great battle commanders. You could turn the tide of this approaching war.” Dany said it to both Mace and Randyll, though in truth, she had only heard such about Randyll Tarly.

“And if this is some witch’s trick? Some plot to dethrone Tommen?” asked Randyll.

“My Lord, with all respect, if I wanted to dethrone Tommen, he would be dethroned. Sycorax alone could burn this whole city down at my command, and she is not my only dragon. I care little about who sits on your Iron Throne. I fight because these Others, these demons from the north, they won’t stop their invasion. Essos has become my home, and I will protect it as I must, by first protecting Westeros.”

“I suppose that is quite true,” said Mace, looking to Randyll.

Dany didn’t mention to them that she would, of course, never burn a city of innocents. She supposed her fearsome reputation may prove useful in this occasion, however, so she used it.

A young man sitting next to Randyll Tarly leaned forward and said, “Sam spoke of this happening. He said the Others were rising.”

“Do not speak to me about Sam,” snapped Randyll.

Dany had heard Jon mention a Sam once.

“Who is Sam?” she asked.

“My brother,” said the young man. “Samwell Tarly. He is a man of the Night’s Watch. He’s in the Citadel now, studying to be their new maester. He said he had seen one of the Others himself, that he had killed it with a dragonglass blade.”

“As if he could,” muttered Randyll.

“You believed him?” Dany asked.

“I did. My brother is an honest man.” The young man looked a little nervously at his father as he said it.

“What’s your name?”

“Dickon. Dickon Tarly, my Lady.” He was a big lad, taller than his father and broad-shouldered. He had a blunt, honest sort of face.

“Yes, well, even so. My daughter faces a dangerous trial. I cannot send my armies away and leave her undefended,” said Mace, patting Margaery’s hand.

“Will the Wall not hold them?” Margaery asked.

“Not for long,” said Dany

Margaery looked at her father.

“I may be able to ensure your daughter’s safety. I can take her to Dragonstone and she can stay with the Tyrell forces there,” said Dany.

“That would ensure her safety, but not her reputation. The reason we have not done exactly that is because fleeing the city will make her look guilty,” said Randyll. Some of the other lords in the room seemed to agree with that.

“I’ll go with you,” said Margaery.

Mace, Randyll, and the rest began to object, but Margaery had already stood and walked over to Dany.

“This is more important,” she said. 

Dickon was nodding along with what Margaery said.

“If - if you’re sure,” said Mace hesitantly. 

“I am. Father, you must send the armies north. I will be safe on Dragonstone.”

Randyll still looked unconvinced, but he deferred to his liege lord.

“I suppose we march north, then,” said Mace.

Dany looked over at Randyll.

“House Tarly has a Valyrian steel sword does it not?” she asked him.

“It does. Heartsbane.”

“I would bring that with you,” she said.


	34. Army of Fire, Army of Snow

Dany had one more window to visit before she took Margaery to Dragonstone. Sycorax flew down upon Maegor’s Holdfast, the central castle within the Red Keep and Dany once again climbed through the window. Sycorax flew off around the Keep, staying low to distract the guards. Dany heard a few shouts from outside, but no one had seen her enter.

Inside, the rooms were dark and quiet. King Tommen was quite the heavy sleeper, as he did not stir even as Dany approached. Three kittens lay at the foot of the bed around his feet. One stared at Dany with large reflective eyes and then darted away into the shadows.

Dany shook Tommen awake and put a hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” she told him until he stilled. She let go of his mouth.

“I just need to speak with you,” she said.

Tommen looked around the room, as if he were still debating whether he should shout for the guards.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I wanted to let you know that Margaery is leaving the city tonight. It isn’t safe for her here, so I’m going to take her somewhere that is safe. I know you’re quite fond of her.”

“She’s going to be my queen someday,” said Tommen.

Dany brushed her fingers over his cheek, still plump with baby fat. 

“I’m sure she will. But if she is to be queen, she needs to survive until you come of age. And you have some years to go still.”

“I’m almost eleven,” he said.

She smiled at him. He seemed much younger than that.

“The Tyrells and their armies are going to move north to fight the dead and protect the kingdom. I know it will be hard, but please, if you can, try to convince your mother to send the Lannister forces to fight with us.”

He nodded. “I will.” Then after a pause, he asked, “How will you fight them? The dead? Ser Boros stabbed that creature right through the head and it did not die.”

“I know. They are not easy to kill, but it can be done. Fire, dragonglass, and Valyrian steel, those are their weaknesses.”

Tommen thought about that, and then he rose from the bed and went to get something from the other room. He came back carrying a small arming sword with a golden lion’s head on the pommel.

“This was my brother Joffrey’s sword. He called it Widow’s Wail. It’s mine now, but it’s too big for me. Look, it’s Valyrian steel.” He pulled it a few inches out of the scabbard to show her and then handed it to her.

Dany hung the sword over her back and stepped up to Tommen.

“You have a good heart, Your Grace,” she said. She kissed his forehead.

Then Dany climbed back onto the windowsill and whistled for Sycorax. When the dragon flew by, Dany jumped onto her back, catching hold of the leather saddle.

They would take Margaery to Dragonstone and then Dany had one last army to try to convince to join them.

***

Jon rode out from Stannis’ camp with Bran and Meera, circling around Winterfell and keeping a wide berth from the castle. They met up with the Kingsroad and then turned south. Bran’s visions were still hazy and confusing, but he said that he had seen three armies riding for Winterfell. He described them as first an army of fire, then one of snow, then one of air. He seemed sure they would all be allies, but Jon still felt a bit nervous. It could be the combined forces of the Freys and the Lannisters marching upon them for all Jon knew. Bran said the first army, the one of fire, would arrive along the Kingsroad today, so friend or foe, they were going to meet them. 

Meera was the first one to see any sign of the oncoming army, and what a sign it was. She pointed to the grey sky, and there, barely visible against the grey clouds, they saw a pale dragon.

“That must be Daenerys’ friend. How do we signal her to come down?” asked Jon.

“Here come the rest,” said Meera.

Her eyes must have been better than Jon’s, because it took him a few more seconds to see the small army riding toward them. Dany had said they only had two hundred men from Essos, but all were mounted on horseback, and Jon was glad to see them. Jon raised a hand and waved to them. A few of them drew odd curved swords from their scabbards and kicked their horses to run around and encircle Jon, Meera, and Bran.

Jon had never seen a Dothraki horselord before, though he had heard of their prowess in battle. They were big men, all of them, and looked bigger beneath their large fur cloaks. They spoke in a harsh sounding language, but made no move to attack.

The rest of the army arrived and Jon heard a familiar voice call his name.

“Tyrion?” Jon said, looking over at the man.

They looked at each other for a moment, neither really knowing what to say.

“How have you been?” asked Tyrion finally.

Jon raised an eyebrow, looking at the men who surrounded them. “The dead have risen and the man who killed my brother holds Winterfell. I have been better.”

Tyrion looked surprised for a moment, but then he started to laugh, and Jon did, too, despite himself. It was a ridiculous situation they found themselves in.

“Bran, what in the seven hells is that saddle? Where’s the one I designed for you?” asked Tyrion, turning to Bran.

“That saddle was lost along with the horse,” said Bran. 

“We’ll have to make a better one for you. I must say, I am surprised and pleased to find you alive. It seems the rumors of your death were quite exaggerated.”

Bran wasn’t looking at Tyrion anymore, though, but behind him. Jon looked, too, and saw Jaime Lannister sitting on a mule. Jaime looked down at the ground, shoulders slumped, but then he straightened and rode forward.

“Bran, I can’t begin to-”

Jaime was cut off, though, before he could finish. The dragonrider must have noticed her army had stopped and just then the pale dragon landed next to them, sending up a flurry of snow. Jon’s horse reared up, but all the Dothraki steeds seemed accustomed to the dragon and barely flinched. The dragon leaned down and Jon could see a small woman with her black hair in a braid sitting on his back.

“Are you Irri?” asked Jon, ignoring Jaime altogether. They had more important things to deal with than whatever Jaime had to say to Bran.

The woman looked Jon over.

“You know me?” she asked.

“I know Daenerys. She saved my life.”

“Where is she?” 

“She flew south again. She went to bring more armies up to the North.”

The woman looked disappointed as she heard that.

“How far is it to the Wall?” she asked after a moment.

“About six hundred miles. But we were hoping you’d stay here awhile longer,” said Jon. Some of the Dothraki murmured something, but Irri just watched him and waited.

“My name is Jon Snow. This is my brother, Brandon Stark. Bran can see things, things the rest of us can’t. We call it the greensight up here. There’s a castle up the road, Winterfell, where we grew up. Bran has seen that castle in his visions. We need it to fight the Others. But right now it’s being held by a family called the Boltons. We’d like you to stay, help us take Winterfell, and then we’ll go to the Wall with you.”

Irri was frowning at him, and she looked at Tyrion, who just shrugged.

“Why is the castle important?” she asked Bran.

“I don’t know. But it is. The Old Gods have shown me that it is.”

Irri watched him carefully.

“We’ll stay for two days. Longer, if you can convince us that taking the castle will help us fight the dead.”

***

Irri didn’t know what to make of these northerners. Half of them were in awe of Viserion and claimed he was gift from R’hllor. The other half were distrustful of them all - the dragon, the people from Essos, and especially the Lannisters. Tyrion filled Irri in on the details, that his brother had once pushed Brandon Stark from a window, crippling him. She was amazed Jaime was still alive, to be honest, though the boy, Bran, seemed oddly lacking in anger. When their king, Stannis Baratheon, had tried to lock Jaime away with the other prisoners, Bran had stopped him, saying they would need every person they could find. He was a very strange boy.

“I expected much worse if I’m honest,” said Ser Jorah, coming up to Irri as she sat huddled between Viserion and a small campfire.

“What do you mean?” she asked him.

“We northerners are known for hating all outsiders. When we rode here with an army from Essos, two Lannisters, and three other southerners, well, I wasn’t expecting things to go well.”

“This is going well?” Irri asked.

“Well, they aren’t killing each other.”

Jon Snow came over to them, with his great white wolf following silently after him. Viserion started to growl at the wolf, but Irri patted him until he quieted.

“Excuse me, My Lady. My brother thinks he may have a way to convince you to stay,” said Jon.

Irri got up and followed him out onto a frozen lake. It was covered in snow, so it wasn’t too slick to walk upon, but it still made her nervous. She moved at a slow pace across it, taking each step with care, and Jon had to continually stop and wait for her. Finally, though, they reached a small island in the center of the lake, upon which grew a tall white tree with red leaves. A face had been carved into the trunk of it and red sap dripped from the eyes as if it were weeping blood. Beneath the tree sat Bran, with the girl, Meera, beside him.

“Will you sit with me?” Bran asked.

Irri did so and he held out a hand for her to grab.

“I think I can show you why we need Winterfell.”

Bran closed his eyes and Irri did the same. She felt a lurch somewhere in the pit of her stomach and then she was seeing things, a series of images flashing through her mind. It was dizzying and confusing. She saw more of the white trees, little people with ears like deer, tall pale beings in mirrored armor. She saw the armies of the dead, and she saw a grey castle with high walls, rising up above the army.

When Irri opened her eyes, Jon and Meera were dueling with swords on the island. They stopped, sheathing their swords, when they saw her and Bran watching them. The sky was a little darker behind them. She had been lost in the visions for much longer than she would have thought and the sun was setting.

“We’ll stay. We’ll help you take Winterfell,” she said.   
***

“I don’t see why we don’t just fly the dragon down and burn our way in,” said Podrick. He was trying to skin a rabbit, but Meera grabbed it from him and began doing it much quicker.

“Because we need Winterfell. We need the castle intact. That’s what Bran says.” Meera finished with the rabbit and pierced it on a stick to put over the fire.

“Why do you trust his magic?” asked Jhiqui. She and Rakharo were sitting as close to the fire as they could get without setting their cloaks ablaze.

“Because I trust Bran. My brother believed in him and so do I. Besides, your queen saw it herself,” said Meera.

“Irri is not queen,” said Rakharo.

“She is a khaleesi,” said Jhiqui.

Podrick asked them what a khaleesi was and they explained.

“Usually there is no khaleesi without a khal, but Irri and Dany do things differently than most.” Jhiqui smiled in a way that Podrick didn’t quite understand.

Podrick looked around the camp in the crofter’s village. It was the strangest mix of people he had ever seen together, and he had spent years in King’s Landing. Essos, the southern kingdoms, the North, dragons, and direwolves were all brought together. He watched Ser Jorah Mormont, sitting out on the frozen lake with his cousin, Alysane, and the captive, Asha Greyjoy, all fishing together. Irri and Jon were in the watchtower with Brienne and Stannis, planning their siege. Jaime Lannister was showing Jhogo his golden hand. Stalwart Shield and two other Unsullied were helping Hodor feed the horses. In any normal lifetime, almost none of them would have even met, but here they all were together, preparing for winter to come.

***

Summer began to howl sometime in the night, a deep mournful sound that carried through the trees and likely woke nearly everyone in the camp. Jon rose from the tent he and Bran were sharing and looked out. Both the wolves were pacing back and forth. Ghost was silent, but every few steps, Summer would throw his head back and howl. Bran woke and shuffled on his belly to see outside.

“I’ll go see what it is,” said Jon.

Bran didn’t respond, and when Jon looked down, he saw Bran’s eyes had turned milky white. Summer grew calmer then, and Jon realized Bran had warged into the wolf. Jon dressed quickly and went out. The wolves were looking to the southeast, sniffing the air. Jon ran and got a garron from the pen, not even bothering to saddle it.

“Let’s go,” he said to the wolves. They took off running through the snow and Jon urged the horse to follow them. They had enough of a moon to see by, especially when the light reflected off the snow. 

Jon could feel Ghost growing more excited as they ran. He thought that, had the wolf not been mute, he would be howling as loud as he could. As it were, Jon did hear a wolf’s howl, but it didn’t come from either Summer or Ghost. It came from up ahead, maybe a mile away. More wolves picked up the call, and Summer and Ghost began to run faster. Jon nudged the horse forward to keep up with them.

They emerged from the forest near the Kingsroad and then Jon saw them. It was the largest wolfpack he’d ever seen, nearly a hundred of them, all standing together in the moonlight. They were all regular wolves, though there was one grey direwolf in the center of them. Ghost went bounding through the wolfpack to reach the other direwolf, but Summer hesitated. He was looking at something, a lone rider who stood behind the wolves, but then he, too, ran to the grey direwolf.

Jon watched the rider, who kicked their horse forward. He could make out one person sitting in the saddle and a large bundle on the back of the horse. The rider recognized him first and called his name. He knew that voice.

Jon was off of his horse and running toward her and she was doing the same. She reached him and he picked her up into a hug, his little sister. 

“I thought you were dead. How did you get here?” he said, pulling back enough to look at Arya. She had grown a little, though she was still quite small, and nearly buried under her large cloak. 

She shook her head.

“It’s- it’s a long story,” she said.

Summer trotted over to them and licked Arya in the face. She scratched his head and kissed the wolf on the nose. Jon didn’t know how to explain to her that it was Bran in the wolf, but as he saw the giant pack around them, he thought that she might already know about warging. Nymeria and Ghost came to them, too, and Jon patted their shoulders. They had half of the original direwolf pack. Lady and Grey Wind were gone. Shaggydog was on an island out in the Shivering Sea. But half of them were together again.

“Come on, let’s go see Bran,” said Jon.

They got back on their horses and Jon asked about the bundle that Arya carried. Her smile fell from her face. She told him about Lady Stoneheart. He didn’t know how to comfort her after that. It was a horrifying thing to hear, and he had heard and seen his share of horrors. All he could think of was something their father used to say to them all.  _ When the cold winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives _ .


	35. Army of Air, Army of Gold

Sansa and Harry rode at the head of the column, leading the Knights of the Vale up the Kingsroad. They had had a strange journey so far. They had arrived at Moat Cailin, expecting a battle with the Bolton men there. Instead, they found the soldiers had been slaughtered, ripped apart as if by beasts. More bodies hung from the walls, flayed and rotting.

“Looks like the Bolton men got their due reward,” said Harry, looking over the strewn pieces of bodies that had been scattered around the fortress.

“Yes, perhaps the gates of Winterfell will be wide open when we arrive and all the Boltons’ heads already impaled on spikes,” said Sansa.

“I doubt it.” Harry looked very serious as he said it. He wasn’t very good at understanding her jokes, or perhaps she was just bad at telling them.

They put Moat Cailin behind them and continued.

***

With Margaery safe and the Tyrell forces either marching or sailing north, Dany turned to the Stormlands, the final destination of her southern wight trip.

She could see the encampment of the Golden Company laid out on a hill near Mistwood, the seat of House Mertyns. The Golden Company was one of the most renowned of the sellsword companies, and because of that, the most expensive. They were said to never break a contract, and their trustworthiness had made them very rich. Golden banners waved in the wind above their gilded tents. In pens and at hitching posts, there were fine destriers and coursers belonging to the knights, as well as two dozen war elephants, each with their own armor. The Company was said to have knights, squires, archers, and assassins, and men from every corner of the known world.

Dany had never seen Aegon Targaryen - or at least the man pretending to be Aegon - but he had been described to her by Tyrion. He was a lad of eighteen, tall and lanky, with silver hair, sometimes dyed blue. Sycorax flew to the finest tent in the camp and Dany spotted a young man fitting that description. They landed heavily on the ground and Sycorax eyed the young man and the soldiers of the Golden Company who stood behind him.

“Hello, nephew,” she said.

***

The army of the Vale looked quite splendid, marching up the Kingsroad. Sansa cared more about how well they would fight, but still, she appreciated how fine they all looked, the knights in their armor and the squires in their doublets and cloaks. She had learned long ago that knights were not always honorable - in fact, the opposite was often the case - but she still admired how they looked, sitting proud on their warhorses with banners waving.

The landscape around them was barren and white, but the procession of banners and house colors was quite beautiful against the backdrop of snow. Sansa sat on her horse on a hillside, watching them all ride into the camp where they were stopping for the night. First came the blue falcon and moon of House Arryn. Behind it were the amber colored flags of House Royce, the broken wheel of House Waynwood, and the dark grey and black triangles of House Tollett. More came from House Lipps, House Corbray, House Redfort, and on and on. Sansa smiled as she watched them, and saw once again how many there were.

The wind picked up and Sansa pulled her cloak tighter around her. It was a Stark cloak, made of thick wool that had been dyed dark grey. The collar was made of white fox fur and there was a white direwolf sewn on the back. Littlefinger had given it to her before he had died, and had made some suggestive comments about how she might be able to pay him back for the gift. She reached under the cloak and felt another gift from Littlefinger hanging from her belt. It was a dagger, made of Valyrian steel and with a dragonbone handle. Littlefinger had wanted her to repay him for his gifts. She had. And now she could enjoy both the cloak and the dagger, and Littlefinger could rot in the crypts. She adjusted her collar and then nudged her horse back toward the tent she shared with Harry.

_ I am a Hardyng in name, but a Stark in blood _ , she thought. They were getting close to Winterfell.

***

Aegon had wanted to speak with Dany alone, despite the objections of his men. He had insisted, though, so Dany now sat in the empty tent, staring across a large dinner table at him.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time, you know. Your exploits in Slaver’s Bay are quickly becoming legend,” he said politely.

“It is the Bay of Dragons now,” she corrected him. 

“Forgive me.” He was a very gracious sort, that much was certain. Tyrion had met him briefly and said he thought the boy was intelligent and well-learned. 

“It is good to see you. Jon Connington has been my only family for such a long time. He raised me and I am forever grateful, but it is nice to have a true blood relative here,” he continued.

“No matter how distant.”

Aegon frowned at that. “Your brother was my father. That doesn’t seem distant at all.”

Dany smiled at him. “I know you are not Aegon Targaryen. You know you are not Aegon Targaryen. My brother’s babe was killed by the Mountain, along with his wife and daughter. Shall I tell you who I think you really are?”

“Disbelieve all you like, but I am your nephew. I am the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms.”

Dany ignored him. “I think you’re a Blackfyre. You’ve got Targaryen blood, that I don’t doubt. But the Blackfyres split from my line of the Targaryens some generations ago. We aren’t so close as aunt and nephew, though I see why you would want to keep up with this mummer’s farce.”

Aegon clenched his jaw, but stayed calm.

“I’m sorry you feel as such,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter really, whether you’re a trueborn Targaryen or some bastard descendent. Either way, I believe we can help each other.”

“How is that?”

“I am in need of an impressive army, which you have. You are in need of legitimacy, which I can give you. No one doubts my parentage or my blood, especially when they see my dragons. Give me use of your army, and I will claim you as my nephew, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.”

“I have legitimacy,” he said.

“You are just a silver-haired boy from Essos. There are hundreds like you in Lys alone.”

Aegon stood and walked across the tent to the corner. He grabbed a sheathed sword that was leaning there and brought it over. It was a hand-and-a-half longsword with a large ruby in the pommel and two gold dragon heads on each side of the quillon. It was splendid, even in the scabbard, but far more so when he drew it. Dany was impressed, in spite of herself.

“Is that…?” she asked.

“The sword of Aegon the Conqueror, himself,” said Aegon.

Dany grinned at him.

“And what was that sword’s name?”

He frowned. “Blackfyre,” he said.

“As is yours.”

They were interrupted then by a plump bald man who entered the tent. He wore fine silk robes and carried with him the strong smell of lilacs and roses. He looked from Aegon, who still held Blackfyre in his hand, to Dany.

“If I may, Your Grace,” he said with a bow to Aegon.

“Of course, Lord Varys.”

“Forgive me for overhearing, but I think we should consider your aunt’s proposition. Daenerys Targaryen is, after all, beloved in much of Essos and renowned throughout a great many kingdoms. Her support, not to mention her dragons, would be a great asset,” said Lord Varys.

Aegon put away the sword.

“What exactly do you need an army for?” he asked.

Dany sighed and once more gave her speech about the invasion of the dead, trying to put as much passion into it as she had the first few times.

“I’ll need to discuss it with my advisors,” said Aegon.

***

They were only two days from Winterfell now, and Sansa could barely sleep from the anticipation that she felt. There were hard battles ahead of them, but the mere thought of seeing her home again - seeing the high walls and towers, the godswood - filled her with emotion. There was joy at going home, but also a deep sorrow that she may be the last Stark left. She thought Jon might be alive, but he was bound to spend his life at the Wall, and would never be able to live at Winterfell again. And she didn’t have much hope for her other siblings.

The army had set up camp with double the usual amount of guards. This close to the Boltons, they wanted to be careful, though their scouts said the Boltons were locked tight into Winterfell, waiting out the winter storms inside its walls.

Harry was fast asleep already. He was not at all a troubled sleeper, and Sansa envied him for it. Her own dreams were often plagued with the most horrendous of visions. She lay awake, thinking about Winterfell and all those who used to live within its walls. She missed all of them so much. Strangely enough, she thought she missed Arya the most. They had tortured each other constantly as children and had fought right up until their father was arrested. Then Arya had disappeared and Sansa had not heard a word from her since. Everyone thought she must have been killed somewhere and her body dumped before it could be identified. There were rumors that Arya had been found, brought to Winterfell, and married off to Ramsay Bolton, but Sansa didn’t believe them. She’d find out soon enough, she supposed.

Sansa closed her eyes and began to drift into sleep. Then, she felt something cold and wet on her hand and she bolted upright in the bed.

There was a wolf standing beside the bed, a little thing with light grey fur. It wasn’t a direwolf, but it looked a bit like Lady had looked as a pup. And of course, Lady had never gotten to be anything other than a pup. Sansa reached out and touched the wolf, petting its soft head. It licked her hand, and then grabbed her sleeve gently in its teeth and tugged. Sansa pulled her hand away, but the wolf continued to nudge at her with its cold nose. Finally, Sansa stood.

The wolf walked to the opening flap of the tent and waited. Sansa quietly dressed, putting on her boots and her Stark cloak, and then followed the wolf out into the snow. All sound was muffled as they walked, a silent world, covered in white. They moved through the camp and a guard stopped her, staring in confusion at the wolf beside her.

“It’s alright,” she told the guard and she kept walking.

“Lady Sansa,” he called after her, but she didn’t stop. 

The wolf led her into the wolfswood, through the bushy evergreens and the barren deciduous trees, until she saw a figure sitting by the base of a tree with a huge grey direwolf beside her. The girl’s eyes were milky white, but when she blinked, they turned back to grey.

Sansa put a hand over her mouth, already beginning to cry.

Arya stood, smiling as if she were trying not to laugh.

“Oh, you utter shit,” said Sansa, and she grabbed Arya into a hug, breaking down completely into tears.

Arya rubbed her back and squeezed her tight. She was so much smaller than Sansa, but Sansa could feel that she was likely much stronger. They held each other for a long time, until Sansa’s arms grew numb from the cold. She still had no answers for why Arya was there in the woods or any of it, but for now, she didn’t care. She took Arya’s hand and led her back to the camp.

It seemed that in the time she had been gone, the guard had informed half the army that she was missing. Search parties were forming, men were hastily dressing and mounting their horses. They all stopped when she walked back to them with Arya, Nymeria, and the little gray wolf. Harry came running through the snow, not even wear a cloak, and hugged her.

“What happened? Why did you leave?” He stopped when he saw the direwolf.

“My sister, Arya,” said Sansa, giving Arya’s hand a little shake.

Harry tore his eyes away from the wolf to look at Arya.

“Your sister,” he repeated.

“And her wolf, Nymeria,” said Sansa.

“It has a name.” Harry’s brain seemed to have come to halt. Shadowcats were common enough in the Vale, but direwolves only lived in the North. He had likely only ever seen them on the Stark banners before. 

“Arya, this is my husband, Harrold Hardyng.”

Arya looked him over and gave Sansa a smug little grin. Sansa almost started crying all over again. As a child, she dreamed of marrying a handsome knight with her whole family there to celebrate with her. She had had Myranda and Mya, but she wished Arya had been there with her. Although Arya probably would have hated it, all the pomp and ceremony, the dancing and the uncomfortable but beautiful outfits. Sansa still wished she had been there.

“Let’s go inside and talk,” said Sansa.

Harry seemed to recover a bit and dismissed the men back to their tents. Sansa led them back into the tent, where Arya told Sansa of Stannis’ camp. Their brothers were there, Bran and Jon, and soon enough Sansa would be reunited with them, as well.

***

Dany was allowed to sit in on the meeting of Aegon with his advisors, which gave her a chance to observe them all.

Lord Varys was adamantly in favor of an alliance between Dany and Aegon. Harry Strickland, the portly leader of the Golden Company, was against it. He promised to keep his contract, but he, like Cersei, claimed that this was all a trick designed by Dany to gain power. Jon Connington was quiet as they spoke, but in the end, he supported the alliance. 

Then Aegon turned to Princess Arianne Martell of Dorne, his most recent ally. She was a beautiful woman, with smooth olive skin and large dark eyes. Behind her stood Arianne’s cousin’s - three women and a younger boy, all with different complexions and builds, but all with the same shape of eyes and the same widow’s peaks. Arianne listened to Varys and Harry Strickland, drumming her fingers lightly over the table. Aegon watched her intently as she considered everything. Dany could tell that Aegon listened to his other advisors, but it seemed like Arianne was really the one that could truly sway his opinion.

“How many of the creatures did you say there were?” asked Arianne.

“There are twelve of the Others, but thousands, millions of the wights. I saw them destroy Hardhome and then raise the dead there. With every victory, their army grows and grows.”

One of the women behind Arianne, the palest of the three, leaned forward and whispered something to Arianne, who nodded.

“If we do this, then you should not just support King Aegon’s claim. You and your dragon must fight for him and bring a swift end to this war. Promise this,” said Arianne.

Dany looked at Aegon. “And if I do, then you’ll send the Golden Company to the North?”

Aegon nodded.

“Then you have my word that I will give you the Iron Throne,” Dany said. She reached out a hand to him, which he clasped tightly. 

Later, Dany watched as the Golden Company began to pack up their camp. They already had their own fleet of ships, upon which they had sailed from Myr to Westeros, and upon which they would now sail to White Harbor. Dany had insisted that they send the elephants to Dorne, however, rather than bringing them along. Harry Strickland was quite upset by this, but Dany held firm. She remembered Drogo’s story about the elephants breaking in fear and trampling their own riders during battle.

As the soldiers worked, Sycorax burnt the wights to ash. They no longer needed them alive and they were a burden for her to carry. Some members of the Golden Company flinched away when they saw the fire expel from the dragon’s mouth, until their leaders shouted at them to get back to work.

Jon Connington came over to Dany as she watched the men rolling up the tents and preparing the horses.

“I knew your brother, you know,” he said.

“Did you? Did you know him well?” she asked.

He nodded. He had reddish hair, turning grey, and deep crow’s feet around his eyes. He looked very tired.

“Very well. He was my closest friend. And my dearest love.”

That surprised Dany, but then again, she didn’t know very much about her brother.

“Oh, I don’t think he felt the same way. But he knew I was… as I am, that I preferred the company of men, and he was always kind to me,” said Connington.

“I hear such conflicting stories about him. So many say he was brave and good, but others say that he kidnapped that Stark girl, that he raped her.”

Connington got a far away look in his eye.

“Lyanna? No, he loved her, and she him. They were fools, as most lovers are, and their foolishness started a war that left thousands dead.”

Aegon came out of the tent with the sword, Blackfyre, over his back, and one of the men brought him a bright white horse to ride.

“You know he isn’t really Rhaegar’s son, don’t you?” said Dany.

Connington looked over at Aegon. “I tell myself he is. He reminds me of Rhaegar sometimes.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “He’ll be a good king. A fair king.”

“He will have to be,” said Dany. She didn’t say it in the tone of a threat, but that’s exactly what it was.

“I so wish to see him sitting on the Iron Throne before I die.”

Dany frowned at him. He was a little wrinkled and grey haired, but he couldn’t be much more than forty. He was speaking like an ancient man, though. He saw her looking and quietly pulled up the sleeve of his shirt. Cracked grey skin spread across his forearm, visible from the bottom of his gloves to the cuff of his sleeve. Once Dany had seen his greyscale infection, he pulled the sleeve back down and tucked it into the glove.

“He’ll be a good king,” Connington said again.

Dany left him and walked over to Sycorax. Two of Arianne’s cousins were waiting near the dragon. One was the boy, who had the dark skin of a Summer Islander and a goldenheart bow in his hand. He introduced himself as Alleras Sand. The other was one of his sisters, Nymeria Sand. She looked the most like Arianne of the cousins, though she was quite a bit taller.

“We were admiring your saddle,” said Nymeria.

“Your dragon can carry two more riders, other than yourself,” said Alleras. He had a nearly permanent smile on his face, which grew when he looked at the dragon.

“She can,” said Dany.

“We would like to ride with you, if we may,” said Nymeria. She was a very graceful woman, but Dany could see the dagger hidden in her boot.

Dany watched them carefully. Jorah had once told her that she had allies in Dorne, but she wasn’t sure she should trust Arianne or her cousins. They might see her as a threat to Aegon’s rule. Dany smiled back at them, getting an idea. She stood to the side, offering to let them climb up. 

Nymeria went first, moving up Sycorax’s back, and Alleras was right behind her. When they got up to the saddle, Sycorax turned her head to look at them and then saw Dany still standing on the ground. Sycorax huffed and snorted, then roared. She reared up onto her hind legs, flapping her wings twice. Nymeria and Alleras both had to cling to the leather straps to keep from being tossed off of the dragon.

“That’s enough. Be calm,” said Dany in High Valyrian.

Sycorax settled back down onto her wings. Dany climbed up, moving past the Sand siblings and took her seat just below Sycorax’s neck.

“She will carry other riders if I am there to calm her. If, however, something were to happen to me, then those riders would end up dead very quickly. Now, get your legs strapped down,” said Dany.

They did so and Sycorax took flight, heading back toward the Wall.


	36. The Walls of Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The joke that Asha tells is based on one from Parks and Recreation. I'm not sure if it originated there, but that's where I heard it.

Sansa did not want to sit up in the Watchtower, unable to see any of the battle, but that was where she would have to be. Stannis’ army needed all the horses they could get, and so her mare was given over to one of the soldiers. She watched them ride out, though, feeling her heart clench with nerves. She had just gotten her siblings back, but now Arya and Jon were going to war again. She hugged them both and then watched as they climbed onto the pale dragon behind Irri. Harry came over and kissed her goodbye before mounting his horse. He led the Vale army just behind Stannis’ men. The Dothraki and the Unsullied went by next, and finally the wolves brought up the rear. Nymeria trotted over and pressed her head into Sansa’s hands, and then she howled and raced forward with her pack.

“We should go inside, my lady,” said Shae. She took Sansa’s arm and gently pulled her back into the Watchtower.

 Hodor had already carried Bran upstairs and set him under the window. Bran’s eyes were white as he warged Summer, but Sansa hoped he would come back from time to time to tell them what was happening in the battle. Shae went to sit next to Tyrion, and Sansa joined them. Theon and Jeyne were in the opposite corner of the room, huddled together. Jeyne had been one of Sansa’s closest friends when they were growing up, and Sansa hated to think about what Ramsay had done to her. Neither Jeyne nor Theon spoke very much at all now. 

Jhiqui was the last of the non-fighters to come up the stairs. She was a capable horse rider, but had no experience with weapons beyond cutting up meat for dinner. Magic made her nervous, so she chose to sit on the opposite side of the room from Bran, near Jeyne and Theon. They also had four guards to watch over them: Meera, Alysane, Asha Greyjoy, and Jaime Lannister, which did make Sansa feel slightly better. It wasn’t her own safety she worried most about, though, but the safety of her brother and sister, her husband, and all the others.

“I don’t think your husband likes me too much,” Tyrion told her, breaking the silence.

“I can’t possibly see why not,” said Jaime.

Sansa laughed a little. The meeting of Harry and Tyrion had been a little tense, to say the least. Some fool of a knight had suggested that Sansa and Tyrion were still married by law, and so Harry had offered to cut Tyrion’s head off right then and there. Sansa had jumped between them and Tyrion quickly said that their marriage had certainly been annulled. It wasn’t exactly true, but for all parties involved, it was.

“He was a little hotheaded,” she said.

“Is he good to you?” asked Shae. 

“He is.”

“Good,” Shae said with a smile. Sansa remembered how her former handmaiden had once threatened to kill Littlefinger for her. It was good to have such a protective friend back in her life.

The wind howled outside and Hodor jumped to his feet, looking around nervously.

“Hodor, Hodor,” he said, eyes going wide. Jhiqui got up and went over to him. She spoke softly to him and slowly got him to sit back down. Bran twitched in his warg trance, but did not come out of it.

Meera went to the window and looked out, but there was nothing to see but snow flurries.

“Let’s have a joke,” said Tyrion. “Jhiqui, what’s a good Dothraki joke?”

Jhiqui looked up from Hodor. “It will not make sense in common tongue,” she said.

“Alright, then, Sansa. Hear anything good in the Vale?”

She thought about it. Myranda’s bawdy comments always made her laugh, but they weren’t proper jokes exactly. She shook her head.

“I’ve got one,” said Asha. 

Tyrion leaned forward expectantly as she told it.

“So there was this old man who lived on the Iron Islands, name of Tawney. I was walking around Pyke with him one day and he shows me a ship that he built. He says ‘Asha, I built this ship with my own two hands, but do they call me Tawney the ship builder? No, they do not.’ Then we go to a stone wall, and he says, ‘Asha, I built this wall with my own two hands. I bled for it. But do they call me Tawney the stone mason? No, they do not.’ Then we go to the pier, and he says, “Asha, my father and I built this pier together, before you were even born. We hewed the logs, sank the posts. But do they call me Tawney the pier builder? No, they do not... I mean, you fuck  _ one _ goat!’”

Tyrion and Shae burst out laughing, but Jhiqui looked confused.

“He’s forever known as Tawney the goat fucker, no matter what he builds,” Asha explained.

“That is vile to lay with a goat,” said Jhiqui, shaking her head.

“I’m the one that told you that joke,” grumbled Alysane.

Asha chuckled.

Shae told the next one, a Lorathi joke about a baker and some magic flour, though Sansa wasn’t entirely sure she understood it. Jaime didn’t have a joke exactly, but he told a funny story about gesturing too emphatically with his golden hand during a council meeting, and sending it flying off into Maester Pycelle’s face.

Tyrion stood up and said, “Ok, ok, here’s a good one. I once entered a brothel with a honeycomb and a jackass…”

Sansa smiled, and for a moment she forgot about the horrible battle, but everytime she remembered, she felt her heart clench with fear. She said a quiet prayer to the Old Gods and the Seven to bring her family home safe.

***

Arya couldn’t believe how much she enjoyed the feeling of riding on the dragon. Jon looked a bit nervous and had a tight grip on the leather straps of the saddle, but all Arya could think was that horse riding would seem so boring from now on. She wished the Mother of Dragons had hatched a fourth egg in the fire, so that she could have one of her own to ride.

Irri landed Viserion in the snow outside of Winterfell. They were about four hundred yards from the castle walls, well out of archery range. The armies rode up behind them and stopped, waiting.

Winterfell was a difficult castle to invade, which made it perfect for fighting the Others, but a brutal inconvenience to capture back from the Boltons. It was surrounded by two walls, an outer one of eighty feet tall and an inner one of one hundred feet tall. Each was covered in crenulations, machiculations, towers, and loopholes. There was a moat between the two walls, not filled with water in the freezing winters, but lined with spikes. There were four gates leading into the castle and four drawbridges over the moats to get through to them. The East Gate, which led to Winter’s Town and the Kingsroad was the most heavily defended, and the Hunter’s Gate to the west was too narrow for any decent assault. The allied armies would feign to attack the East and North Gates, drawing attention there, but then send forces around to hit the South Gate.

Arya looked down and saw Gendry ride up next to the dragon. He was wearing his bull’s head helmet and a plain but well-made set of armor. He was Ser Gendry now, knighted by Beric Dondarrion before he died. Knighthood suited him, Arya thought, though she hoped he would never stop blacksmithing. Once they took Winterfell, she had some weapons in mind that she wanted him to make for her.

“Be careful,” he called up to her.

“Valar morghulis,” she said back.

“What?”

“It means don’t die, because you owe me a dagger.”

Irri turned around on the dragon to look at Arya, who just shrugged. Close enough.

A horn sounded and the wolves began to howl. The vanguard formed into lines. It consisted of the most heavily armored warriors, many of the Knights of the Vale, as well as some of the Unsullied and the southron lords. The horn blew once again and they charged forward, racing their horses toward the East Gate.

Three Unsullied climbed onto Viserion, each with a large shield in hand and a sword at their belt. The dragon could only carry three people comfortably, but over a short distance he could manage six. The saddle had no seats for them, but they grabbed hold of the leather straps as best they could with their free hands. The rest of the army held their position, waiting to charge the gates.

Viserion rose into the air and flew toward the castle, and the middle guard of the army began their charge just behind him. Winterfell had no ballistas, though some archers on the walls fired at the dragon when he passed over them. Arya ducked low on his back and listened to the arrows ricochet off his armored belly and legs. Viserion swooped low and knocked two of the archers off of the inner wall, who shrieked as they plummeted into the courtyards below. 

He stopped, hovering above the South Gate, where a force of about a hundred infantry waited to guard it.

“Dracarys,” said Irri.

White and gold fire poured from the dragon’s mouth and covered the rear of the infantry, though the dragon was careful not to touch the gate or the drawbridge itself. The rest of the men scattered, fleeing across the courtyard. Several of the archers and guards on the inner wall broke and ran, too. Viserion landed on the rampart of the inner wall for a moment. A soldier charged at him, but the dragon snatched the man in his mouth and tossed him into the moat. He turned and lashed his tail at a small group of archers, knocking them against the high stone merlons with a force that would surely shatter their ribs. Arya and Jon raised their bows and hit two more of the archers.

Viserion jumped off the wall and dropped down to the courtyard, just next to the smithy building and the South Gate. Jon and Arya climbed down the dragon’s back and began to spin the cranks, first to raise the iron gate in the inner wall and then to lower the drawbridge. The Unsullied stood over them, holding their shields high to protect them from any arrow fire. Irri and Viserion faced the other way, burning any soldiers that tried to cross the courtyard and attack them.

An arrow flew past Arya and landed at her feet and another hit the shield of one of the Unsullied. The courtyard was mostly empty, so Arya shouted at Irri to fly back up to the walls and kill the archers. She did, and Arya left Jon and the Unsullied to finish lowering the bridge. She turned, raised her bow, and shot the few knights down from their horses as they tried to come charging toward her.

The drawbridge set into place and the five of them ran across it. Above them they could see Viserion grabbing men from the walls with his talons and teeth, and then dropping them down into the courtyard and the moat. Most of the archers had fled from the walls, but when Arya turned around, she saw a cavalry of about two hundred Bolton knights had formed and were charging down the courtyard, heading straight for the drawbridge. Together, she, Jon, and the Unsullied pulled the iron latches open and then heaved the heavy wooden doors of the outer wall open.

Arya was almost knocked off the drawbridge and into the moat as the Knights of Vale, the Northmen, and the Dothraki charged forward through the gate. She only just managed to grab hold of the door and cling tight to it as wave after wave of cavalry galloped across the drawbridge and into the courtyard. She could hear the clang of steel and the scream of horses as the two armies collided, but she couldn’t see much of what was happening anymore.

***

Brienne watched as one of the Bolton cavalrymen managed to spear Podrick’s horse in the chest, sending him flying off onto the ground. She had been riding just behind him, so she slashed her sword across the cavalryman’s belly and then stabbed another one in the neck. A knight charged toward her, spear aimed at her chest, but one of the Dothraki rode by and slashed at him with an arakh, cutting through the knight’s chainmail and nearly beheading him before he came within ten feet of Brienne. She pulled her horse around, looking for Podrick in the chaos. She cut down two more Bolton soldiers, and then she spotted him, dueling with a Bolton knight who had also been unhorsed. Podrick managed to dodge a blow, which glanced off the armor on his shoulder and then he stabbed the man through the chest.

There was a roar above them. Viserion swooped down and grabbed two Bolton knights with his feet, flying them high up in the air and dropping them down again. A horse being ridden by one of the southron lords shied at the sight of the dragon and ran straight into the gelding that Brienne rode. He reared at the collision and she was tossed from his back. Brienne rolled to her feet, feeling a twinge of pain in her side from the fall, and stabbed a man who came at her with an axe. She ran towards Podrick.

Viserion made another dive and killed two more men. There was a howl from behind them and a light grey direwolf jumped straight over Brienne and Podrick, knocking a Bolton man from his horse and then ripping into his throat. 

Under the assault of the allied armies, the dragon, and the wolves, the Bolton forces broke and began to run. A cheer went up around Brienne. They would still need to break into the keeps and the towers, where most of the Bolton men had already retreated, but it was a fine initial victory. Brienne clapped Podrick on the shoulder.

***

Irri circled over the castle in a wide loop. The Unsullied had all climbed up onto the high inner wall and were currently marching in two phalanxes around either side of it, slaying all the archers and guards who remained. 

Down in the courtyard, there was a brief respite from the fighting. The Boltons had retreated, most of them to the Great Keep, though Irri could see they also had forces in the First Keep and the Broken Tower. The allied armies had all poured into the courtyard from the South Gate, though for now, they were keeping back toward the stables and away from the Great Keep.

Stannis began to send his men up the stairs to the top of the inner wall, where the Unsullied had already cleared out the Boltons. The men he sent were archers mostly, but some spearmen, as well, and they ran along the wall to get closer to the Great Keep.

Viserion landed on top of the Great Keep, which looked out on the whole castle. Both armies were holding for the time. The Boltons were not firing arrows down on the courtyard and the allied armies weren’t besieging the keeps just yet. With any luck, Roose Bolton would know when he was beaten and surrender.

***

Jon stood in the stables with Stannis, though he was having trouble focusing on what Stannis said. He couldn’t find Arya. The only reason Jon was even standing there in the stables, and not running through Winterfell looking for her, was that Nymeria the direwolf seemed quite calm. Jon knew that if Arya were in any real trouble, the wolf would be howling and frenzied. Still, he wished she were close, so that he could be sure she was safe.

Ghost came over to stand with Jon. The white fur on his head had been stained reddish brown with blood, but Jon patted him anyway.

Jon looked over the faces in the stables, trying to keep track of who was still alive. Brienne of Tarth was and she was currently scowling at Stannis. She hated the man for his role in Renly’s death, but as she had told Jon before the battle, she promised Catelyn Stark to keep Sansa and Arya safe. She intended to win back Winterfell for them, even if it meant fighting with her enemy. Her squire Podrick stood next to her, covered in dirt and blood and limping a little, but looking otherwise unhurt. The Unsullied were all up on the wall, but Rakharo and two other Dothraki stood in the stables, listening to Stannis’ plan, with Ser Jorah Mormont helping to translate for them. Harry Hardyng had a wound on his arm, but he was on his feet and claiming he was ready for the next assault. Jon wasn’t sure if he liked Sansa’s new husband, but the man was a good soldier, Jon gave him that.

One of the southron knights came running into the stables.

“The Boltons have sent a messenger for you, Your Grace,” he said, bowing to Stannis.

“Bring him in,” said Stannis.

The messenger was a young squire, who by the look of his clean doublet and breeches, had not yet seen any battle that day.

“Lord Bolton would like to parlay terms with you in the Great Keep,” said the boy.

“I’m not going to walk into some Bolton deception and be skinned alive for my trouble. Go tell Lord Bolton that if he wants to talk, he may come out and surrender. Tell him that if he does, his army will not be executed,” said Stannis.

The boy hesitated for a moment, but Stannis barked at him to go and he quickly ran back toward the Great Keep.

***

Arya walked softly through the hallways of the Great Keep, wearing the face of a young Bolton squire. She had found the boy dead beneath the bridge that connected the armory to the Great Keep, pulled him out of sight, and stole both his face and his clothes. In the chaos of the battle in the courtyard, no one had noticed her. When the Boltons had called for a retreat, Arya ran back into the Great Keep with them and watched as they barred shut the oak doors. 

Now, she moved through the keep, passing men as they ran to reinforce the doors or to position themselves at the windows and loopholes with bows and arrows. They barely looked at her, just one lost squire in a frenzy of activity.

She made her way up the stairs and into the tower where her family had once lived. She assumed Lord Bolton was staying in her parents’ chambers, but Ramsay who have his choice of her or her siblings’ quarters. She had seen Roose downstairs, ordering his men to ensure that every window was covered by an archer, but Ramsay had been absent. Arya checked Sansa’s room first, then her own, then Bran’s. She found Ramsay in Robb’s old room, which had a view out on the training yards.

He was writing a letter next to the burning hearth, but he looked up when she came in. 

“What do you want?” he asked.

“They sent me from downstairs with a message for you,” she said in the squire’s voice.

“What is it?”

Arya slipped the squire’s dagger out of its sheath and into Ramsay’s neck, just under his right ear, all in one fluid movement. She took off the squire’s face.

“I’m sorry, but I just don’t think our marriage is going to work out,” she told him. His pale eyes were wide, and blood sputtered out of his mouth. “You see, I’m Arya Stark. The real Arya Stark.”

Ramsay made a gurgling sound and then slumped back into his chair. Arya pulled the dagger out. She picked up the letter he had been writing, addressed to someone called Reek, and tossed it into the fire. She looked through the weapons on Ramsay’s belt next and selected a thin, curved flaying knife that was wickedly sharp. She made an incision along his jawline and began to remove his face.

They’d open the doors for Ramsay.


	37. The Great Keep

Jon had his hand on Ghost’s head, still listening to Stannis’ plan of attack, when Nymeria howled. Ghost’s ear pricked up and then he instantly ran forward, dashing out into the courtyard. Jon ran out after him and saw the direwolves and wolves alike, all running for the Great Keep. A moment later a rider came racing toward them, one of their scouts, and the man shouted that the gates of the keep had been opened and the wolves had gone running into the fortress.

The soldiers all looked at Stannis.

“Well, go on. Storm the bloody keep,” he said.

Someone handed Jon a horse and he pulled himself into the saddle, kicking it forward. They charged across the yard and then bottlenecked at the door of the keep. Jon couldn’t see inside yet, but he could hear the snarling of the wolves, the clash of swords, and the screaming of men as they died. His horse pushed forward and they ran inside, trampling over the carnage of bodies. Ghost and Summer had both grabbed onto the same man and were pulling him apart between them. 

Jon hacked and slashed around him with Longclaw as the Bolton men fought bitterly against hopeless odds. They were desperate and unorganized against the attack, as Dothraki and Northmen, Knights of the Vale and southron lords all swept through the hallways and up the staircases.

At last the battle calmed and the surviving Bolton men surrendered in the Great Keep, Roose Bolton among them. They were brought into one of the larger rooms of the keep, along with the household staff and the wives and children of the Bolton men.

Roose Bolton was watching Jon with his unsettling pale blue eyes. He wasn’t even glaring, he just had a resigned sort of look on his face. Jon didn’t see Ramsay among the survivors, though. He must have fled or been killed in battle.

Arya came down the steps of the south-westernmost staircase then, with Nymeria beside her and something in her hand. She was wearing a black leather tunic and trousers, both of which were too big for her and were not the clothes she had been wearing before the battle. She came over to Jon and he got a better look at the thing in her hand. Arya set it down in front of Roose Bolton, whose icy facade at last cracked, as he looked upon the severed face of his son.

Jon looked down at Arya, but she was focused on Roose. She had changed so much since they were children together, and learned so many things that Jon didn’t quite understand. But, then again, he had gone through his own set of changes, as well. He certainly didn’t judge her for it.

A southron knight came into the room, asking if the Bolton’s maester was still alive. The maester stood, slowly, and came over to them.

“What’s happened?” asked Jon.

“King Stannis has been injured.”

Jon and Arya left Brienne and Rakharo to guard the prisoners and followed the knight and the maester back to the entry hall of the Great Keep. Stannis was sitting up against one of the stone walls, bleeding from a wound in his side. His face looked pale and his eyes a bit unfocused. Jon kneeled down next to him, while the maester crouched by the wound to look at it.

“We should take him upstairs to the rooms there. And I’ll need milk of the poppy and boiled wine from the maester’s turret,” said the maester.

Some of the southrons ran to find the items.

“How’s it look, Snow?” asked Stannis.

“Bad,” said Jon.

Stannis chuckled, though it was not a happy sound. 

“My daughter.” Stannis took a deep, pained breath. 

“She’s safe. She’s with the Mormonts.”

“She’ll be queen. She is my heir. You’ll support her.” He looked around from Jon to the southron and northern knights. 

Several of the knights came forward and lifted Stannis to carry him to one of the rooms in the keep’s towers. Jon looked back at Arya. 

The allied army was a loosely united one at best. The southron lords and some of the Northmen followed Stannis. Other Northmen stayed for the Starks. The Knights of the Vale followed Harry and Sansa. The Dothraki and the Unsullied followed Irri. The wolves followed Nymeria, who followed Arya. The different factions didn’t know each other well, and didn’t necessarily trust each other. They had fought well enough today, with a common purpose driving them, but they needed a leader to unite them. Jon didn’t know if that leader was Stannis or not, but Stannis’ death certainly wouldn’t make the army any more cohesive, and might instead alienate the southrons. The whole thing could so quickly turn into a bloody mess. 

Jorah Mormont joined them and he had good news, at least, that the Broken Tower and the First Keep had both surrendered. The day’s battle had been won.

Arya and Jon walked together through the Great Keep, past the sept that their father had built for Catelyn, and into the Great Hall. They looked at the high table, where their father used to sit, often with them alongside him. The three direwolves padded up quietly beside them.

The Starks were in Winterfell once again.

***

Sansa held the torch and led the way down the narrow spiral staircase into the crypts. Hodor went behind her, carrying Bran, and then last were Arya and Jon, who together were carrying Catelyn’s body, wrapped in a gray and blue shroud. Sansa hadn’t had much time to prepare it, but she had managed to sew a white wolf and a silver trout on the cloth, for the Starks and Tullys.

Arya had told them all what had happened, what had become of their mother after the Red Wedding. Sansa couldn’t bear to look at the body. Jon had been the one to wrap it in the shroud for them, to spare Sansa and Arya from having to do so.

They walked through the crypts, passing the statues of the former Kings of the North and the tombs of their families. As they went deeper, the Kings turned into the Lords of Winterfell. They reached the statue of their aunt, Lyanna Stark, and their father, each with a direwolf statue curled at their feet. Next to their father’s tomb was an empty one for their mother, already prepared. Arya and Jon stepped forward and laid her gently into it. 

Arya said a few words over the tomb. She spoke of their parents together in death and she spoke of their mother, kind and fierce and clever. Bran began to cry, and Sansa sang a song that had once been their mother’s favorite. Then Hodor set Bran down next to Sansa and he helped Arya and Jon lift the heavy stone lid over the tomb.

They stood in silence for a long time after that.

Jon looked at the statue of their father.

“You’re Lord of Winterfell now, Bran,” he said.

Bran looked up at him and then at Sansa.

“For now,” he said.

***

The wind and snow stung their faces as they flew through the bitter air. Dany lay flat against Sycorax, with her cheek pressed against the dragon’s scales. She couldn’t see a thing, but Sycorax seemed to be managing alright. Unless the dragon was just flying blindly forward in a general northward direction.

“Do you know where we are?” shouted Nymeria Sand, from a little further down Sycorax’s back.

“The North,” Dany shouted back. She couldn’t get any more specific than that. Everything just looked white and empty. At least the Wall itself would be easy to find. They had to be getting close. 

Sycorax tilted her wings a little, changing their course ever so slightly to the west. Nymeria said something about frostbite and Alleras, who had trained as an acolyte in the Citadel, began to describe every horrific case of it that he had read about, until Nymeria told him to shut his mouth.

Dany smiled a little as she listened to them squabble. Whenever she and Viserys had fought, he had always hurt her, pinching or slapping her. They had never been fond of each other, never loved each other. They had never argued about silly things, knowing they would still love each other after the argument was over. She wondered what Rhaegar would have been like as a brother. He would have been much older than her, more like a father or an uncle than a brother.

There was a cry in the distance, one that Dany recognized. Sycorax shrieked back, and then a great white and gold dragon came flying toward them through the snow. Dany felt her heart beat quicker, giddy at the thought of seeing Irri again. She had known she missed Irri, but only then, when she saw her again on Viserion, did Dany realize just how much. She wished she could reach out and touch her, but on separate dragons, all she could do was wave. Irri waved back and yelled something that was lost in the wind.

Viserion dipped down and Sycorax followed him through the clouds, until a great grey castle came into view. They flew over its double walls and landed in a courtyard. This must be Winterfell, Dany thought, not quite understanding why Irri was here instead of at the Wall.

Dany could barely get off the saddle quick enough. Her cold fingers fumbled with the fastenings over her legs, but then she was free and climbing down to run to Irri. They embraced and Dany held her tight. She didn’t want to stop holding her. She wished they were alone. When Dany drew back, however, she realized that was far from the case. Several people were out in the courtyard. There were knights who paused in the middle of practice matches, stable boys leading their horses, cooks and charwomen standing outside the kitchens, and many various others milling around and all looking at Dany.

Nymeria and Alleras climbed down from Sycorax, who had started to growl at them as soon as Dany left the saddle. Dany introduced them quickly to Irri.

“Come, we should go inside,” said Irri, pulling Dany by the hand.

Dany was hoping they would go and find a warm bedroom, so they could have some time in private, but instead, Irri led her into a crowded hall. It was a large room, made of grey stone. Inside were eight long trestle tables, four on either side of a wide central aisle. On the far side was a raised platform, upon which was a ninth table, this one looking out on the room. All the tables were crowded with people, most of whom she didn’t recognize. She did see Stalwart Shield, Rakharo, and Aggo, though, and then spotted Jorah, sitting with Tyrion and Shae. At the high table sat Jon Snow, with four people that Dany had not met. There was a beautiful young woman with auburn hair, seated next to a handsome blonde knight. There was boy, also with auburn hair, who sat in a wheelchair behind the table. And there was a girl with a long face, who was leaning forward to get a better look at Dany.

Jon stood when she entered and the lord who had been speaking went silent. Dany felt all the eyes in the room turn to her. For a brief and irrational moment, she wanted to hide behind Irri, but instead she squared her shoulders. She wished Sycorax were there with her, but the dragon was far too big for the hall. Dany let go of Irri’s hand and walked up to the high table. Jon came out from behind it and clasped her arm.

“You’ve been busy,” said Dany, looking around the hall.

“You missed quite a battle.”

“There will be others.”

Jon agreed and then brought her over to meet the ones who sat with him, his sisters, Sansa and Arya, his brother by law, Harrold, and his brother, Bran. Sansa and Arya both smiled at her, but Bran had an odd look on his face, as if he were trying to remember something long forgotten.

“I’ve seen you,” he said, frowning like he still couldn’t quite bring her to mind.

Dany frowned. She was certain she had never met this boy, but maybe he glimpsed her flying overhead.

“Bran has visions. He sees things, like you did in that haunted place,” said Jon.

Dany nodded.

Sansa Stark stood then. She was taller than Dany had expected and very graceful, a bit like Nymeria Sand. She turned to address the room.

“Forgive the interruption, Lord Hornwood,” she said to the man who had been speaking when Dany entered. “But I think it is important we hear from Daenerys Targaryen presently. While we have won back Winterfell from the traitors, she has travelled south to rally the southern houses to our cause, to help us defend the Wall from the Others. How went your trip to the south?” She turned her blue eyes on Dany, who looked out on the room full of mostly unknown lords, ladies, and warriors.

“Thank you, Lady Sansa. My trip south has had its disappointments and its victories. Tommen Baratheon, under his mother’s orders, has declined to send the Lannister’s and the crown’s forces to aid us.”

There were some general sighs and mutterings from the crowd.

Dany continued, “Tommen, himself, however, sends his personal support, along with this Valyrian steel blade.” She drew Widow’s Wail and put it on the table. “And the Tyrells have agreed to support us and send their armies north.” 

This comment got a mixed reaction from the seated people. Some cheered, while others looked angry.

“They have begun marching from King’s Landing to the North, but their road will be slow. I doubt we can expect them for two or three months at the least. However, the Tyrell forces that hold Dragonstone have agreed to continue mining the dragonglass from below the mountains and to send it on ships to White Harbor. And the Golden Company, led by my nephew, Aegon Targaryen, has joined with us. They sail for White Harbor, as well.”

There were more mutterings and confusion from the crowd at the announcement. It seemed Aegon’s arrival had not yet reached the North.

Jon Snow brought two more chairs over to the high table for Dany and Irri to sit next to Arya Stark, who was eyeing Widow’s Wail with interest. The lords and ladies were talking quietly among themselves about all the things Dany had said, and Lord Hornwood’s business - whatever it had been - was quickly forgotten.


	38. The Wall

Grenn was on guard duty, freezing as he stood atop the Wall, and looking out at the lands beyond and the Shivering Sea to the east. The winds were strong and cut through his thick black cloak as if it were nothing. He didn’t know why he was even up there. He could barely see a thing through the heavy snow. Pyp and the rest would all be comfortable and warm, sitting by the fires inside Eastwatch, and he was out on the Wall getting frostbite for no good reason.

Wait.

He did see something. Grenn ran to the edge of the Wall and looked out. He saw nothing of note on the land, but he did spot a small ship getting tossed around on the rough seas. It was being pushed northward by the winds and currents, past the Wall. He didn’t think that Cotter Pyke had sent out any more ships, not in this weather, but whoever it was, they were going to run aground just north of the Wall.

Grenn ran down the staircase to tell Pyke.

They sent out a small ranging party and found the ship a mile or two to the north smashed against the rocky shore. Almost every man aboard had perished, as had the ones who had been flung off the deck and into the frigid waters. There were three who had survived, though they were badly injured and cold. The rangers wrapped them in their spare cloaks and carried the men quickly back to Eastwatch.

Only one of the survivors was conscious when they got them back into the fortress. Maester Harmune looked over the other two and did what he could to clean their wounds. The conscious one was a young sailor called Willem, who had broken his arm, but didn’t have any serious injuries. His two companions were not so lucky, and both had nasty head wounds.

“What in the seven hells were you doing out there?” asked Pyke, as the sailor sat by the fire, holding his broken arm. 

Pyp brought Willem some stew and he drank it down with one hand.

“We were sailing to Skagos, and we got caught in the storms,” Willem said, still shivering.

“Skagos. What could be so important to risk your life to go to Skagos?”

Grenn had to agree with Pyke on that one. Skagos was a barren island, with a reclusive population of people. They herded unicorns and goats and were said to consume their own dead relatives.

“Rickon Stark,” said Willem, he pointed to one of the injured men, a grey bearded fellow. “That man, there, with the cut over his eye. That’s Ser Davos Seaworth, sworn to King Stannis.”

Pyke went over to get a better look at him.

“I remember him, didn’t recognize him at first. He came through here once with Stannis.”

“Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbor charged Davos to travel to Skagos and bring back Rickon Stark to be the Lord of Winterfell,” said Willem.

“Rickon Stark is dead,” said Grenn.

“They say he escaped and has been hiding on Skagos with a group of wildlings,” said Willem, shaking his head.

“Well, he’ll have to stay on Skagos awhile longer. There will be no more sailing until the storms pass, and they may not fully pass until winter is gone,” said Pyke.

The second sailor, a man called Red Tom, died as they spoke without ever gaining consciousness. Maester Harmune turned his attentions to the surviving two, setting Willem’s arm with a splint and doing his best to help Ser Davos. They feared, however, that the knight would soon join Red Tom. He had a nasty fever and Harmune suspected his injuries inside his body were far worse than the ones visible on the outside. Harmune gave him milk of the poppy and kept his wounds clean, but the rest was beyond his abilities.

“That red woman, the witch, she’s still at Castle Black, isn’t she?” asked Cotter Pyke the next morning.

“Aye, I think so,” said Grenn.

“Should we send for her?” asked Pyp.

“No, I doubt she can get here in time. No, I need the two of you to take him. Ride as hard and fast as you can. Take spare horses. He may not make it, still, but not for our lack of effort.”

Grenn and Pyp carried Ser Davos out to one of the narrow sleds, set him in it, and covered him with fur blankets. They strapped the sled to two surefooted garrons and then mounted two of their own. Harmune gave them some medicine to take with them, and they set out west along the Wall, keeping the horses at a brisk pace.

***

Things had been quiet at Castle Black since Jon left for Winterfell. They had seen no sign of the Others or the wights, which relieved Edd more than he liked to say. And things were relatively peaceful within the fortress, as well. After surviving the Hardhome massacre together, the brothers of the Night’s Watch and the free folk were not at each other’s throats nearly as much as they had been before. The red woman and the fool, Patchface, however, were both a little unsettling. Edd wished they would have rode out with Jon and left the Night’s Watch to its business.

The horn sounded, but only once. Brothers returning. 

Edd had sealed the tunnel below the Wall, filling it with rocks and ice. There was no more ranging to be done, only surviving and guarding the Wall. No brothers could return from beyond the Wall, because none had gone out there. That meant that either Othell Yarwyck was back from the Nightfort or men from Eastwatch had come.

It turned out to be the latter. Edd went out to the courtyard as Grenn and Pyp rode into Castle Black. They led several more horses behind them, two of which were pulling a sled.

Grenn was the first off his horse to hug Edd, clapping him hard on the back. Grenn was still as big and strong as an aurochs, Edd could see. Pyp was next.

“Where’s the red woman?” asked Grenn, before they could even say much of a greeting.

Edd led them into the common hall to find Melisandre, and they carried in the injured Ser Davos to her. She had them lay him out on one of the tables, her eyes going wide as she saw him and the extent of his injuries. Brighteye and Little Spear came into the hall and Pyp and Grenn both blanched when they saw them. Little Spear climbed onto the table and crouched down next to Davos’ head, sniffing at him.

“I need to get to work immediately,” said Melisandre, looking around at all the people in the room.

“You heard her, everyone out,” called Edd.

The brothers and the free folk all went out into the courtyard and scattered about into the other buildings. Edd closed the door of the common hall, leaving Melisandre and the Children to do what needed to be done. He went and sat on the steps with Grenn, Pyp, and Tormund.

“Friend of yours?” asked Tormund.

“Don’t really know him,” said Grenn. “He’s one of Stannis’ knights. I think the red woman knows him well enough.”

“Where’s Jon?” asked Pyp, looking around.

“He decided to go for a Bolton hunt down around Winterfell,” said Edd.

Tormund had a skin of ale in his hand, which he offered to the others. It helped to warm them a little.

“So, are you in charge now?” asked Pyp.

“Who in the seven hells would leave you in charge?” asked Grenn, nudging Edd in the shoulder.

“Everyone important either fucked off or died. I’m all that’s left,” said Edd with a shrug. 

Wun Wun the giant lumbered into the training yard and sat down with thump in front of them. He held out a large, hairy hand to Tormund for the ale skin.

“Oh, it’s too small for you, you great dull thing,” said Tormund.

Wun Wun kept his hand out to Tormund until he handed over the ale skin. The giant finished it in one sip and dropped it down to the ground. Tormund shook his head.

“The worst decision we ever made was giving him his first taste of wine,” said Tormund.

“I can think of a few worse decisions,” said Edd.

Grenn laughed. “Course you can.”

***

Ser Davos awoke in a small room with no windows and the strange sight of Melisandre and Dolorous Edd standing over him. Stranger still, however, were the big-eared and wide-eyed little creatures that were with them. He thought he might still be dreaming or dead when he saw them, but the sharp pain in his head and stomach told him otherwise. And as curious as he was about them, the first thing he did was ask about Stannis and Shireen. Edd told him about the Dragon Queen and how she had flown Shireen and Selyse away to safety on Bear Island.

“Shireen rode a dragon? I can’t wait to hear about that from her,” said Davos with a smile. “And Stannis?” he asked again.

“We got a letter from Ramsay Bolton, saying that he had defeated Stannis’ armies and executed him. Jon didn’t believe it. He rode down to join with Stannis,” said Edd.

Davos tried to stand up then, saying, “I should go, as well. King Stannis will need all the help he can get.”

“You are not going anywhere, Ser Davos,” said Melisandre, gently pushing him back down onto the cot. There was something different about her, something more somber and hesitant than before.

“Have you seen something in your fires?” he asked her.

“The fires show me nothing.” She said it rather bitterly.

One of the odd little creatures climbed onto the bed, staring at Davos with gold and green eyes.

“Hello there. What is this lovely being?” he asked.

“One of the Children of the Forest, one of the last ones. That one is Brighteye, the other is Little Spear,” said Melisandre.

Edd excused himself to deal with some Night’s Watch duties, and Melisandre sat in a chair next to the bed. Davos reached out a hand and Brighteye took it. They had rather sharp teeth and claws, and Davos could sense a fierceness beneath their sweet faces.

“What do you mean the fires show you nothing?” he asked Melisandre.

She sighed and leaned back. She still looked the same with her red robes, her ruby necklace, her perfect skin and pretty face, but she also looked much older to him somehow. It was her eyes, he thought. Her eyes were tired and worn down.

“I thought I understood everything the Lord of Light showed me. I saw my purpose so clearly. I knew Stannis was Azor Ahai reborn.”

“You don’t think so now?” Davos asked.

“I don’t know. I know nothing now.” She looked up at him. “You’re a religious man. Do you ever have doubts?”

“Of course. Some of the things I’ve seen you do - that...shadow - well, they’ve given me my fair share of doubts. But I take comfort in my faith in the Seven. Sometimes, when the night is dark and full of terrors, as you say, it is all that keeps me from falling away into fear.”

He looked at her. It didn’t seem like that was what she wanted to hear. Then Melisandre did something very strange. She reached up and unclasped the choker necklace that she always wore and set it down in her lap. As soon as she did so her coppery red hair turned white and wispy. Her skin wrinkled and black tattoos spread over her arms and hands. Her shoulders slumped and her body sagged. She looked older than old.

“The necklace puts a glamor over my skin. It makes me look young, as I did countless years ago, and it used to make me feel young, as well. But now, at last, I am beginning to feel my true age. I grow very tired.” Her voice came out raspy and weak.

Davos hesitated, not sure quite what to say.

“These wars drain the life out of all of us,” he finally said.

She picked up her necklace and put it back on, and she was once again young and healthy looking, but her eyes were still tired.

Little Spear’s ear twitched and they said something in a melodic voice. Brighteye jumped from the bed. They heard a horn blast and Davos felt his body tense. The Children looked frozen in place, waiting. There was another horn blast. Melisandre rose to her feet, touching the ruby on her necklace. Then, they heard the third horn blast. Melisandre started for the door and then looked back at Davos.

“Go,” he told her. 

She ran out with the Children.

***

“Ah. We’re fucked,” said Edd. 

Grenn, Pyp, and Tormund had run up onto the Wall with him, along with many of the brothers and the free folk. Together they watched the endless troops of wights walk out of the trees and stand before the Wall.

“We still have seven hundred feet of Wall between them and us,” said one of the wildling women. She looked about as hopeful as Edd felt.

They had been stocking up pitch and arrows atop the Wall, should the wights attack, but now as Edd looked over the army, he knew it wouldn’t be nearly enough. The wights covered the ground from the Wall back into the forest and stretched over a mile on either side. There were more in the trees, plenty more, though Edd couldn’t yet see them. Dead creatures began to emerge alongside the corpses of humans. Giants rode out on rotting mammoths. Shadowcats and direwolves ran through the ranks of men and women. White spiders the size of dogs scuttled out on spindly legs. The Night’s Watch could drop every barrel of burning pitch and shoot every flaming arrow they had and they would still not make much of an impact on this tremendous army.

“Get the barrels on the ramp!” Edd shouted. “Archers forward, knock arrows.”

It might not help overly much, but it gave them something to do.

“Light, draw, loose!” shouted Edd. 

They lit the arrows on fire and sent the first volley down on the wights. A few of the dead men caught fire and fell. But the fires soon went out and new wights stepped into their place.

“Release the first round of barrels.”

The barrels of pitch were dropped to the ground and more wights burned.

“Where’s the bloody Dragon Queen when you need her?” muttered Edd.

The legions of wights parted, creating aisles within their ranks. Edd felt his heart clench and the blood in his veins chill with fear. The Night’s Watch fighters paused for a moment and the frozen air stilled to silence.

Then the Others began to ride out of the forest and pass through the legions of their dead soldiers. Edd counted twelve of them, each mounted on the walking corpse of a horse. There was a shriek like a hawk overhead, and for one uncharacteristically hopeful moment, Edd thought the Dragon Queen had come. Beside him, Tormund’s eyes went wide as six massive birds flew out of the clouds from the north. They were nearly as big as the dragon had been, big enough to pick up horses in their talons. They looked a bit like brown eagles, but with more sharply curved beaks and ragged feathers. They were dead, as well.

“What the fuck are those?” asked Grenn.

“Rocs,” said Tormund. “They all died out years ago.”

The rocs landed in the aisles between the legions, sitting just behind the Others. Edd wondered why they didn’t just fly over the Wall, but they all seemed to be waiting for something. The Others stopped about a hundred feet from the Wall.

No one spoke. They barely breathed.

One of the Others rode forward. He had a horn in his hand. He raised it to his lips and blew, and a sound so horrible came out of it, that all of the living flinched and covered their ears with their hands. Edd’s felt a freezing pain shooting through his skull as he failed to fully block out the noise. He dropped to his knees, clamping his hands over his ears as hard as he could. After what seemed like endless seconds, the scream of the horn stopped and for a moment there was silence. Then Edd heard the sound of cracking ice.

“Get down off the Wall!” he shouted.

There was chaos as they all charged for the staircases. In the rush, Edd lost sight of Tormund, of Grenn, of Pyp, everyone. He just ran with the others, down the steps as fast as they could go, as the Wall cracked and splintered beneath them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh


	39. Fire, Dragonglass, and Valyrian Steel

Davos grabbed a rough wooden crutch that Edd had left for him and made his way out of the room and into the training yard. Wun Wun stood in the center, looking up, too big to climb the staircase to the top of the Wall. Most of the other people had already gone up, or were making their way now, leaving the yard mostly empty. Davos saw Patchface, the fool who Shireen had been so fond of, standing next to the tunnel through the base of the wall. The fool’s hands were bleeding - his own blood, Davos thought - and he was drawing strange symbols on the ice face of the Wall. The Children of the Forest ran out, holding spears of wood and obsidian. They leapt on the fool, stabbing him over and over again, and then they hacked the symbols off of the Wall. Davos couldn’t see where Melisandre had gone.

There were shouts and screams above them and then a horrible screeching sound. Davos fell to the ground and next to him Wun Wun bent over, holding his ears. When the sound ended, Davos got roughly to his feet and looked up. He saw a small crack form near the top of the Wall and then begin to spread down toward its base.

Melisandre came running out of one of the buildings and grabbed his arm.

“It’s too late. We have to leave.” She half pulled him and half carried him to the stables. She threw a saddle on one of the horses, hastily tightened it, and then helped Davos up. She grabbed another horse and mounted it beside him.

They rode out into the yard as the people came running down from the Wall, all in a frantic and terrified mass. Some ran to the stables, but most bolted right out of the gates as fast as they could. The wildling Tormund rode by on a horse with Dolorous Edd seated behind him. He shouted something to Wun Wun.

The crack in the Wall grew deeper and great chunks of ice began to fall from it, smashing down on the buildings below. Davos looked at Melisandre, who sat still and resigned. She looked at him for a moment and then got down off her horse. A wildling girl grabbed the free mount and rode away on it, and Melisandre walked toward the Wall.

“What are you doing?” Davos shouted after her, but she didn’t turn around. She stood, facing the Wall as the crowd raced past her. Brighteye and Little Spear ran to stand beside her, with their spears lowered at the crack in the Wall, but Wun Wun grabbed the Children and ran with them out of Castle Black, following Tormund. 

Davos sat on his horse in the gateway of the fortress, watching Melisandre. The crack in the Wall splintered and widened and the wights began to pass through it. She raised her hands and fire began to stream out of them. The first of the wights were consumed by it and the crack in the Wall turned into a blazing beacon of flames. The fire spread up Melisandre’s arms to her cloak and Davos realized after a moment that she was burning, too. She looked back at him for just a moment.

Davos turned the horse and galloped away. When he looked back he saw a column of fire reach upward toward the sky and then die down again.

  
***

Dany sat next to the dying Stannis Baratheon in a room that smelled of blood and rot. The maester had cleaned Stannis’ wounds with boiled wine, but an infection had set in. Stannis was a big man, said to be a brilliant battle commander, and Dany thought he had likely been a formidable warrior once, as well. The maester did not think he would live more than a few days more, though.

Stannis looked at Dany and she was quiet for a moment. His eyes were slightly unfocused, but he frowned, as if willing himself back into lucidity.

“When are you leaving?” he asked her.

“Two days from now. We wanted to give the soldiers some time to rest, but we need to get to the Wall.”

He nodded. He wouldn’t be able to make the journey with them.

“The lady, Melisandre…” he started to say, but then he trailed off. He shut his eyes and for a moment, Dany thought he had fallen asleep. But then he opened them again. He didn’t speak, so she did.

“King Stannis, you have won more battles than anyone here. What would you do? How would you fight the dead?” she asked him.

Stannis shook himself a little and his eyes grew more resolved.

“Every soldier you lose is one that they gain, so you’ll want to lower the risk to your men whenever you can. Use the dragons as scouts, but keep them away from the Others. Send some cavalry, mounted archers mostly, past the Wall to hit the fringes of the dead army. Keep the assaults quick and then retreat before they can hit back. Give command of the Wall to Snow, he knows it best. If the Wall falls, pull back to the Last Hearth, or Winterfell if you can. Don’t stop the cavalry assaults. Slow the army as much as possible, and all the while you must figure out how to kill the Others.”

What little energy he had managed for the speech drained out of him and he slumped back in the bed. Dany reached out and patted his arm, thanking him. He grabbed her hand before she could pull back.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

When Ser Willem Darry had smuggled young Dany and Viserys to Essos from Dragonstone, it had been Stannis that they were running from. Dany thought that was what he was apologizing for. She had too much else on her mind, though, to hold any anger for a dying man. She excused herself and left him to sleep.

Dany climbed up to the top of the inner wall, where Sycorax was laying on the rampart, looking out at the surrounding land. Arya Stark was up there, as well, not too close the dragon, but watching her. Dany pet Sycorax for a moment and then went over to Arya.

“She’s amazing,” said Arya, her eyes still flicking over Sycorax.

“She is. She used to be so small that I could carry her in my arms.”

“So was Nymeria.”

Dany looked back at the yard, where the wolfpack was laying. They had just returned from hunting in the wolfswood and they were sluggish and sleepy after their meal. The three direwolves were all sitting together. Ghost was a little hard to see against the snow, but Nymeria stood out with her darker grey fur.

“Why does your sister not have one?” asked Dany. All the other Stark siblings did.

Arya looked sadly down at the wolves. “She did. Hers was called Lady. She was the best behaved of all the wolves. But one day, Prince Joffrey attacked my friend and Nymeria bit him on the arm. She was still a puppy and he wasn’t badly hurt, but he wanted to kill her. I chased her away so that she would be safe. But Joffrey demanded that a wolf die and Lady was the only one around.”

The Starks seemed bonded to their wolves in the way that Dany was to Sycorax and Irri to Viserion. It must have hurt terribly to lose one. Sycorax took flight then, moving away toward the south to hunt. Dany and Arya were quiet for a moment.

“Are you good with that sword?” asked Dany, gesturing to the thin blade at Arya’s belt.

“I am,” she said with a grin. She reminded Dany a little of Laeti in the way she smiled.

“I have never used a sword before. I don’t even know how to hold one.”

“Jon gave me my first lesson. Stick them with the pointy end. It has served me very well.”

Dany laughed. Then she took off Widow’s Wail, still in its scabbard, and handed it to Arya.

“That is good advice, but I think you should have this,” Dany said.

Arya reached for it, but then pulled her hands back. 

“I can’t,” she said. “That’s Valyrian steel. It’s too great a gift.”

Dany lowered the tip of the sword to the floor and leaned on the handle.

“Do you know what this sword is?” she asked Arya.

Arya shrugged. “A Valyrian steel that the Lannisters bought?”

“They didn’t buy it.”

Arya frowned, a little confused.

Dany continued. “Tyrion and Jaime told me about it. After your father’s execution, Tywin had his sword, Ice, melted down and split into two arming swords. I think it’s only fitting that one should be returned to your family. It’s called Widow’s Wail.” 

She held out the sword again and this time Arya took it. Arya pulled it partially out of the scabbard, examining it, from the golden lion on the handle to the red Valyrian steel blade.

“Tywin dyed the metal,” said Dany.

“Father never liked showy things like that. Ice was simple, a grey blade and a plain handle.” Arya touched the lion head and then said, “I may take this to Gendry, get rid of this part.”

“You could have it turned into a wolf, like your brother’s sword.”

“I don’t need showy things either.” Arya paused. Then added, “Thank you.” She turned and walked back down the staircase of the inner wall. 

Dany leaned on one of the crenels in the battlements, looking down over Winterfell. Men and women were preparing for their march to the Wall, loading up wagons with food and other supplies. Two cartfuls of dragonglass had arrived at Winterfell from White Harbor so far, with more on the way. They still needed more, but they would make due for now. 

***

Arya found Gendry in the smithy, working with the Bolton’s old blacksmith, making steel tips for the fire arrows. Most of the Bolton household staff had quickly surrendered and joined with the Starks. A few had not and had been thrown out of Winterfell with the Bolton soldiers, left to make their way through the cold as best they could. Roose Bolton had been executed by Jon, beheaded in the yard with little ceremony, but most of the other soldiers had been allowed to leave. They didn’t want to waste the space or the food on prisoners.

“Alright, m’lady?” Gendry asked her when she came in.

“Don’t call me that,” she said, but he was smiling at her.

“You’re more than welcome to call me ‘Ser Gendry.’”

“I have a few other things in mind to call you.”

He laughed at that.

“How much longer will the arrowheads take?” she asked him. They looked like they had made several basketfuls already.

“An hour or so,” he said. “But then I told the blacksmiths from Winter’s Town I’d help them make some horseshoes. We’re adding these little spikes to them. They take longer to make, but they should give the horses better grip in the ice and snow.”

She nodded, and he looked at her.

“Did you still want that dagger?” he asked.

“No, it’s this,” she took out Widow’s Wail out of the scabbard.

He took it from her, holding it carefully. He inspected the metal and checked the balance of it.

“This is a beautiful sword. I don’t know what could be improved on it,” he said.

Arya stepped up to him and tapped the lion’s head. “I just want this gone from the pommel. It’s not important, not as important as the horseshoes, but if you have time.”

Gendry smiled at her. He took the sword over to an large anvil and laid it down, with just the tip of the pommel sticking over the edge. He picked up a hammer and brought it down hard on the lion’s head, which knocked off with two blows. He handed it back to Arya.

“I had time,” he said.

“Much thanks, Ser Gendry,” she said, and gave him a terrible curtsy. He responded with an equally unimpressive bow.

Arya left him to his work and went out into the training yard. The Unsullied were running through drills, while the Westerosi knights sparred with training swords around them. She spotted Sansa standing to the side and watching them, and walked over to her.

Harry Hardyng was fighting a young knight of the Vale and easily besting him, but Sansa’s attention was more focused on Brienne of Tarth, who was giving her squire Podrick advice as he sparred with Jaime Lannister. Jaime was slower and clumsier than he had once been, but he was still quicker than most.

“Don’t let him lead you, Podrick. You’re going where he wants you to go,” Brienne called out, as Jaime managed to land a blow on Podrick’s leg with the blunted sword.

“She’s quite good,” said Arya, coming up beside Sansa. “I saw her against the Boltons.”

“She knew our mother,” said Sansa.

Jaime managed to knock Podrick down to the ground, but then set down his sword to help Podrick back to his feet.

“Watch your footwork,” said Brienne. She went over and showed Podrick something that Arya and Sansa couldn’t quite hear.

“Did she?” asked Arya.

Sansa’s eyes lingered on Brienne and then she turned to Arya. “She met her after Renly died, and swore herself to mother. She promised to find us and keep us safe. She’s been searching all over the Riverlands for the two of us.”

“And now she’s found us,” said Arya.

Brienne looked over and noticed the two of them watching. She patted Podrick on the shoulder and came over to them.

“My ladies,” she said, bowing to each of them.

“Your squire fights well,” said Sansa politely, as Podrick was once again knocked down into the snow. 

Brienne looked back at him. “Ser Jaime is a very formidable opponent.”

“So are you,” said Arya, looking up at Brienne. She was nearly as tall as the Hound had been, and dressed in fine armor. She had a ragged scar on one cheek and eyes as blue as Sansa’s. She was exactly what Arya had wanted to be as a child, big and powerful and deadly with a blade. Though, Arya supposed that she had become two of those things, at least.

Brienne had a training sword in her hand and another at her belt, which had a golden lion on the pommel.

“May I see your sword?” asked Arya.

Brienne obliged. It had the same red dyed blade as Widow’s Wail.

“I have it’s twin,” said Arya, pulling out her own sword.

“Daenerys gave that to you?” Brienne asked and Arya nodded.

“They were made from the metal of Ice,” Arya told Sansa, who reached out and lightly touched Widow’ Wail.

“Jaime gave me this one when I went to find you both. Stark steel to protect the Stark daughters. I’m sorry I took so long to find you,” said Brienne.

“We did alright,” said Sansa, giving Arya a smile.

“Could you train me?” asked Arya. “This sword is much bigger than I am used to.” She gave Needle a tap.

“Of course,” said Brienne.

Arya handed both her swords to Sansa and got one of the blunt training swords. Brienne showed her some different grips and then they began.

***

Irri sat in the godswood with Bran and Meera, under the weirwood heart tree. Bran was away in his visions, and Irri and Meera were making spearheads and arrowheads from the chunks of obsidian. Meera was better at handling the larger pieces, and then she would pass the smaller shards to Irri to form into arrow tips. Irri had done this with flint rocks before, and she found that the obsidian was similar to work with, though much sharper. They both had little cuts covering their fingers from working with the rocks.

As they worked, Irri told Meera about life on the Dothraki Sea and Meera told her about living in the swamps of the Neck.

“We stopped through the Greywater on our way here,” said Irri.

Meera’s eyebrows went up. “You did? How did you find it? No one but crannogmen can find it.”

Irri laughed. “I had a bit of an advantage, being able to fly overhead. We met your parents. They helped us a great deal, traded us furs and cloaks. We wouldn’t have made it north without them.”

Meera looked a little sad. 

“Your brother?” Irri asked.

Meera shook her head.

“Your mother was very worried about you. She asked me to tell you to come home safe to her,” said Irri.

“I don’t know if any of us can promise that now,” Meera said, looking over at the heart tree.

Bran twitched a little.

Irri changed the subject to something a little more pleasant than their impending deaths. Instead, she told Meera about Vaes Dothrak, with its markets, shops, and great works of art. As she spoke, though, Bran said her name, coming out of his vision.

“Irri,” he said again.

Both she and Meera stood and went over to him.

“The Wall has fallen,” he said.


	40. Pursued by Death

Some of the Night’s Watch had fled to Last Hearth, the seat of House Umber, whereas others scattered toward the mountains in the west. Edd had only a small band of people with him now, pushing on through the snow, barely resting and barely eating. They kept going. They needed to reach Winterfell.

The horse that Tormund and Edd had ridden out of Castle Black died a few days into their journey, and they had quickly eaten it and then moved on. Jace and a Thenn girl named Ridha shared one of their two remaining horses and Davos rode the other. Grenn and Pyp walked side by side, and Wun Wun marched next to them, carrying the Children of the Forest on his shoulders. 

The only mercy to them was that the human wights were slow and awkward over the terrain. They were easy enough to outrun. It was the animals, however, who still pursued them. The rocs had come first, when there was still a large group of the Night’s Watch together. They had swooped down, grabbing people with their talons and crushing them. Edd had seen one of the giant birds grab Matthar and toss him like a limp doll through the air. The Night’s Watch had all scattered to avoid the attack, and now there were only ten of them together with two horses.

They hadn’t seen the rocs in a day or two, but there were shadowcats and direwolves still pursuing them. One shadowcat had come charging toward them, only to be crushed by Wun Wun. Another was killed by Little Spear, but more came, not attacking, but waiting and watching for someone to lag behind.

Edd stumbled and fell into the snow. Tormund grabbed him and pulled him back to his feet. One of Edd’s toes had been hurting terribly for the past few hours, but he couldn’t feel it any more. That was probably bad. They couldn’t afford to rest, though, so he didn’t say anything about it.

Then they heard it. A roc screeched in the distance. 

They couldn’t outrun the rocs, so they stopped. The Children stood up, one on each of Wun Wun’s shoulders, holding their spears ready. Jace had two dragonglass arrows left in his quiver, but the rest of them only had steel swords, if that.

The shrieking got louder and they saw three of the rocs flying toward them. Tormund let go of Edd, and he sank back to the ground.

“Edd! Edd, get up,” he heard Grenn say.

He could hear a roaring, screaming sound, as well. The rocs must be almost upon them. Edd felt a blast of warm air hit his face. He looked up and saw one of the rocs on fire, still flying for a moment and then crashing down into the snow.

Two dragons soared over them, a black one and a pale one. The two remaining rocs turned and flew back toward the north. The black dragon breathed fire in their direction, but wasn’t quite able to hit them. The dragons landed and Edd felt himself being pulled once again to his feet.

“We should go after them,” he heard Daenerys say.

“They’re going back to the Others. It’s too dangerous,” said a woman that Edd didn’t recognize. She sat on the smaller of the two dragons, the white and gold one.

“I’ll be careful.”

Edd forced his eyes to focus and watched as Jace climbed onto the back of the black dragon and the Children of the Forest followed him. They took off and Edd felt a spray of snow and ice hit his face from the burst of wind under the dragon’s wings. Tormund was talking to the woman on the white dragon, but Edd couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then he felt Grenn and Pyp carrying him over and up onto the dragon’s back. They strapped his legs down on a sort of saddle, but Edd could barely feel his legs anymore. He slumped forward in the seat, closing his eyes. He felt another body being placed behind him.

“Those two are the worse off. Go on, get them to Winterfell,” said Tormund’s voice.

“I’ll wait for Dany. I don’t want to leave you alone,” said the dragon woman.

Edd drifted off into sleep and when he woke he was high in the air, riding on the back of a dragon. He flinched a little. There was a small woman with black hair sitting in front of him and when Edd looked back, he saw Davos, sitting with his eyes shut. Edd couldn’t tell if he was asleep, or if he simply didn’t want to see how high in the air they were.

The dragon was warm beneath Edd and feeling was returning to his legs. It hurt quite a lot to feel them again. He was definitely going to lose some toes. Still, it wasn’t so bad, riding a dragon. He didn’t hate it.

***

Dany didn’t have time to ask about the creatures that rode on Sycorax with her and Jace. They were small and nimble and they carried obsidian-tipped spears. As long as they could help her kill the giant birds, she didn’t mind having them along at all. There was something a bit familiar about them, actually, like from a dream. It probably was from a dream, she thought.

Sycorax flew fast and hard and they spotted the two great birds just ahead of them. Sycorax surged forward. The birds split up, with one diving down and the other going up.

_ Dracarys _ , Dany thought, and Sycorax breathed fire on the one that had dived down. It plummeted to the ground and fell in a smoking pile in the snow. The other bird, however, veered around above Sycorax and dropped down toward them, with its large talons reaching for them. Jace loosed an arrow and hit it in the wing. The bird shrieked and twisted to the side. One of the little creatures aimed their spear and threw it, hitting the bird in the chest. It, too, tumbled to the ground.

Sycorax veered around and they returned to where the rest were waiting.

“Well?” asked Irri.

Dany nodded. “We found them. There was no sign of the Others,” she said.

“I’m going to fly these two back to Winterfell. They’re in a bad way,” said Irri, pointing to the two men who sat behind her on Viserion.

She flew off and Viserion soon became lost in the grey clouds. The little creatures jumped from Sycorax onto Wun Wun and climbed up to his shoulders.

“She can carry two more,” said Dany, patting Sycorax. 

They looked at each other for a moment and then Grenn and Pyp, two men she had met briefly at Eastwatch, stepped forward and climbed up behind Jace. Tormund and the girl with them got on their two horses.

“How much further to Winterfell?” asked Tormund.

“Half a day if you ride hard,” said Dany. She wasn’t sure the horses were in any shape to be ridden hard, though.

Sycorax flew up, staying above the riders and the giant, and they made their way back toward Winterfell.

***

Sycorax and the survivors of the Night’s Watch arrived back to the castle in the early hours of the morning, and were lucky enough to found the castle quiet, not yet fully awake. Irri had already taken Ser Davos and Edd to the maester, and so far word of the Wall falling had not yet spread throughout Winterfell. It would soon enough, though. The arrival of a giant, two Children of the Forest, and the survivors was not exactly subtle, however. Soon enough the halls of the Great Keep would be full of people, all fighting and arguing and trying to tell the rest what to do. 

Dany found the Starks and Irri in the otherwise empty Great Hall.

“How long until the Others get here?” she asked Bran. 

“A month, if we’re lucky. They’re slow, and they may stop and attack the villages and towns along the way. That will slow them even more, but it will also give them more soldiers,” he said. He was slowly getting better at interpreting his visions. He could, at the least, see where the Others were.

“What about their sacred site?” asked Jon.

Bran shook his head. “It’s too far north for them to reach. They’re making a gamble, pushing south. But they won’t be able to replace themselves while they’re down here.”

Arya had a deep frown on her face as she listened to Bran. Sansa turned to Dany.

“What do we do?” she asked.

Dany rubbed her face for a moment. 

“We have to slow them down and evacuate the northernmost settlements.” She took a deep breath. “We should send riders, not just ravens, to the castles and larger towns. Tell them they must abandon their homes and travel south. If they don’t believe in the Others, the messengers can tell them that the Dragon Queen will burn them in their houses if they don’t leave immediately.”

Sansa began quietly listing the places they needed to send the riders - Karhold, Deepwood Motte, the Dreadfort, and her list went on. 

Dany continued. “We need cavalry. They must be light and quick, mostly archers and a few spearmen. Irri and I will fly with them to the north. We’ll slow the army, kill some of the Others, if we can.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Arya.

Sansa looked like she wanted to object, but Arya spoke again before she could. “I’m good with a bow and on a horse.”

Dany nodded and said, “While we’re gone, the three of you should prepare the castle as best you can. There should be more dragonglass on the way from White Harbor. The Golden Company should arrive, too. And we can hope the Tyrells will make it in time.”

“We should send the children away,” said Irri. Winterfell was mostly filled with soldiers, but there were some children among them, most of them from Bolton’s household staff and the residents of Winter’s Town.

“To White Harbor,” said Sansa. “If the army of the dead defeats us, then maybe they can escape on ships.”

Jon stood from his chair. “I’ll talk to Stannis’ men, see if I can find more cavalry for you,” he said.

“And I’ll speak to the knights of the Vale,” said Sansa, also getting up.

Bran looked nervous as he watched the two of them leave the room. Irri placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You should practice your greensight while we’re gone. You’re our only eyes on the Others,” she said.

He nodded, and then frowned, thinking hard about something. 

“I may be able to help you,” he said. “I can’t leave the heartwood tree when I’m having visions, but I might be able to warg into a crow or a raven. If I could see where the Others were, then I could help you avoid them. Or help you find one on its own.”

“Good,” said Dany. She looked over at Irri, who had a worried look on her face. Irri hid it well, but Dany knew her well enough to see it.

***

Dany walked out into the yard where the cavalry was preparing to leave. Over by the smithy, she could see the blacksmiths, all looking exhausted after making as many horseshoes as they could for the riders. The whole camp had been a flurry of activity, with people making obsidian arrow heads, fletching arrows, and preparing the children for the evacuation to White Harbor. 

About a thousand cavalry stood in the courtyard, armed with bows and quivers of obsidian arrows, and a few carrying long spears. They were split into battalions each of around a hundred riders. Dany had assigned commanders to these. Aggo and Qhono would each take a battalion of mixed Dothraki and Northman riders. Stalwart Shield would lead the Unsullied, who had traded in their steel spears for dragonglass ones, and some Northmen, as well. Brienne of Tarth and two other warriors had divided the southrons between them. Tormund had a group of wildlings - those that had been part of Stannis’ army and few that had survived the Wall falling. The last three battalions were knights of the Vale, and Sansa and Harry had helped select the commanders to lead them.

A large crowd stood around the cavalry, ready to say their goodbyes and see the warriors off. Dany watched Jhiqui hug Rakharo and Jhogo before they mounted up behind Aggo. Jaime said something to Brienne and Podrick and then went to stand with Tyrion and Shae. He was a fine swordsman, but he couldn’t shoot a bow with one hand and so was staying behind in Winterfell. Asha Greyjoy gave her white-haired brother a kiss goodbye on the cheek and then mounted a horse next to Alysane and Jorah, the three of them a part of Stalwart Shield’s battalion. Arya was saying goodbye to one of the blacksmiths and then came over to join Dany. Sansa walked over to them holding a black cloak in her arms.

“I made something for you. It’s one of the old Night’s Watch cloaks.” She spread it open, revealing a three headed dragon that had been sewn onto the back with scarlet thread. “I needed something to keep myself busy, and I don’t really know how to do anything else.”

Dany smiled. She knew that wasn’t true. She took off the borrowed Stark cloak she had been wearing and replaced it with the black and red one. She hugged Sansa.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you,” she said.

Sansa turned to Arya then and grabbed her face. “You be careful,” she said. 

Arya laughed and took Sansa’s hands, before hugging her. Jon came over with Hodor and Bran, and Dany moved away to let the Stark siblings have their goodbyes. She went to have her own with Tyrion, Shae, and Jhiqui.

“Your saddle still looks good, but fly back here if you need me to alter anything,” said Tyrion. “I wouldn’t want you falling off in the middle of battle.”

“Return safe,” said Shae.

Jhiqui lunged forward and hugged Dany fiercely.

“If you must use dark magic on these things, you should do it. Keep the khalasar safe,” she said.

Dany promised that she would. She turned and walked over to Sycorax, who was waiting with Viserion and Irri over by the Great Keep. One of the wildlings had given Irri a polished warhorn, which she wore on a strap around her neck. Dany felt the weight of her little horse idol around her own neck. She pulled Irri to the side.

“Don’t do anything too reckless,” said Irri, before Dany could speak.

Dany pulled her close and Irri tucked her head into Dany’s chest. “I am never reckless,” she said.

Irri scoffed. She pulled back and touched Dany’s face. Dany kissed her and then they turned to their dragons. Dany climbed onto Sycorax, and soon after she did, Arya and Alleras joined her with their bows and arrows. Meanwhile Jace got on Viserion behind Irri. The Children of the Forest came over and after speaking to each other, they each scurried up onto a dragon, Brighteye with Viserion and Little Spear with Sycorax.

They waited for a moment, but then a raven flew past and landed on Sycorax’s wing. It cawed at them and then flew away. Irri blew her warhorn and the North Gate of Winterfell opened. The cavalry began their march with the direwolf, Nymeria, and her wolfpack in the lead of them. Sycorax took flight first and then Viserion, following after the raven.

***

Sansa and Jon went up onto the high inner wall to watch the cavalry depart. There were no banners waving now. The soldiers carried only armor and weapons, with a small number of carts and wagons full of food and blankets behind them. They needed to be quick and agile.

Summer howled in the yard behind them and Nymeria paused for a moment on the road. She turned and howled back to him, and then continued her way north. It seemed that Sansa couldn’t have her siblings safe and in one place for more than a few weeks at a time, if that. Not that any of them were really safe now.

“Do you think Rickon is out there, on Skagos?” she asked Jon.

He nodded. “Sometimes in my dreams I don’t just see through Ghost’s eyes. I think I see through Shaggydog’s, as well. He’s alive, which I think means there’s a good chance Rickon is, too. We’ll find him when all this is over.”

Sansa was quiet for a moment.

“What’s it like?” she asked.

“Warging?”

She nodded.

“I can’t do it the way Bran and Arya can, but it’s strange to feel yourself in the body of another creature. The connection is so strong. When I was stabbed, the last thought going through my mind was Ghost and whether he would be alright.” He stopped, looking over at Sansa. “Do you miss Lady?”

She smiled sadly. “Every day,” she said.

It began to snow, though it was a light enough flurry. Sansa looked up and felt the flakes fall onto her face. She closed her eyes and allowed herself a brief moment of peace, enjoying the feeling of the snow. Then she opened her eyes again.

“We should start the preparations for Winterfell,” she said.

***

Stannis was asleep when Davos came into his room, but he opened his eyes when Davos took a seat. He looked thin and weak and his eyes were a little cloudy. The maester was amazed that he had survived as long as he did.

“Ser Davos,” said Stannis. His voice sounded faint, barely more than a whisper.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Not- not long now,” said Stannis, looking up at the ceiling. He took a deep breath and then gave a pained sounding cough.

“I’ll get the maester, get you some milk of the poppy.” Davos stood, but Stannis stopped him.

“No, sit.”

Davos did so, leaning forward to better hear Stannis.

“You came from Castle Black?” Stannis asked.

“I did, Your Grace.”

“The Lady Melisandre?”

Davos reached up and touched the satchel of finger bones that he wore around his neck.

“She saved us,” he said, after a moment. “But she died.” Davos wished he could have said it more gently, but Stannis was always so straightforward. He liked things to be said as they were.

Stannis looked back up at the ceiling and coughed.

“My daughter,” he said, eventually.

“The princess is safe, Your Grace.”

“Keep her safe. She will be queen someday.” Stannis trailed off. His eyes closed and he fell once more into the sleep. 

Davos sat with him for several hours. The maester came in from time to time, and then, sometime in the late evening, Stannis died.

Davos sat back in his chair. He hadn’t always agreed with Stannis, especially in the later years, but he had always been grateful and unflinchingly loyal to the man. Davos thought about Melisandre, as well. He had hated her for a time, had even wanted to kill her after the Battle of the Blackwater, but she had died so that he and the rest could escape from the Wall. War was a strange thing, making enemies of friends and friends of enemies. 


	41. Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know very little about medieval battle strategy, so the defense plans are taken from the youtube video "Improved Battle Plans: A Defense in Depth for the Battle of Winterfell" by Invicta. So all credit goes to them.

Wun Wun lifted the heavy iron pickax high above his head and drove it deep into the ground, shattering the frozen soil. Jon had worried that digging a trench would be too difficult, if not downright impossible during the winter. Wun Wun was much stronger than a human, however, and he was making quick work of it with the specially made pickax. Without Tormund there to translate, Jon and a wildling named Ridha had had to mime the movement over and over. Ridha only knew about ten words in the Old Tongue, but eventually they got it through to the giant. He seemed to enjoy the work as well, smashing the ax down as hard as he could. Once he had broken the ground, the rest of them could move in with shovels and smaller pickaxes to dig out the trench. It was hard work, but it was so much better than sitting around and waiting aimlessly for the Others to come.

As they worked on the trench, Jon could see Jhiqui leading a team of horses that were dragging a cluster of felled trees through the snow. She stopped about a hundred yards from where Wun Wun was working and another group of people began rolling the logs out. They quickly got to work, chopping the branches from the trees, stripping the wood, and then splitting the logs for the rough wooden fence they were building. Even the children, those who hadn’t been sent to White Harbor yet, were at work, gathering the cut branches of the trees and dragging them back to Winterfell to be turned into spears and spikes. Behind them, closer to the walls of Winterfell, Jon could see Jaime Lannister and Nymeria Sand planning out where the spikes would be arranged. 

They were using the time they had to add every fortification they could to the castle, hoping to kill as many wights as they could before they even touched the walls. The first line of defense was the wooden wall, set about 300 yards from the castle. Next was the trench, which they would fill with pitch and set on fire when the wights approached, set halfway between the wooden fence and the castle. Then were the wooden spikes which would be set closer the walls. They would be tipped with dragonglass and arranged in chevrons to funnel the wights through tight openings. And, of course, there was Winterfell itself, a strong and formidable castle. 

Inside the walls, Sansa was leading the efforts to reinforce the inner wall, piling dirt and rocks up against it. Meera, Edd, and many others were knapping the hunks of obsidian into sharp tips for arrows, spikes, and spears. They had received three more wagonloads of dragonglass from White Harbor, and they were going to send three wagonloads of children back to White Harbor in return.

It was getting toward midday, and Jon could see the men and women around him were starting to flag.

“Right, everyone,” he called. “We’ll take a quick rest. Get some food and something to drink. We’ll get back to work in an hour.”

The workers set down their shovels and made their way back to the castle. Wun Wun continued to break the earth with his pickax.

“Wun Wun!” shouted Jon.

The giant turned to him.

“Get something to drink,” said Jon.

“Drink?” Wun Wun cocked his head.

“Water!” shouted Ridha, and then she repeated the word in the Old Tongue.

Wun Wun waved his hand at them and continued working. Jon shrugged and followed the rest inside. 

Shae, Pyp, and Davos were ladling out stew and passing out bread to those who had just come in. Jon got a bowl and went to sit next to Sansa in the Great Hall.

“Is Bran still in the godswood?” he asked her.

Sansa nodded. “Meera and Hodor are with him. There’s been no word yet about the cavalry.”

“He’ll tell us tonight.” 

Jon told Sansa about the fortifications outside the castle and she told him about the ones inside.

“Some of the men from White Harbor said Lord Manderly is sending us three trebuchets,” she said.

Jon looked over at the East Gate, the largest entrance into Winterfell.

“Will a trebuchet fit through the gates?” he asked.

“It will not. We’ll have to put them outside the walls. We can use them until the wights get close, but then we’ll lose them.”

Tyrion Lannister came up to them then, frowning a little.

“Everything alright?” Sansa asked him.

“I just had a terrible and rather obvious thought,” he said.

“What’s that?” asked Jon.

Tyrion glanced over toward the northeast and said, “The Others can raise the dead. We happen to have a large number of the dead, interned right here in our walls.”

Jon felt his stomach drop a little.

“You want to clear out the crypts?” he asked.

“I’m not sure that is necessary. Sealing them should do. I think we should remove all the weapons, weigh down all the lids of the tombs, and wall over the entrance.”

Sansa looked over in the direction of the crypts.

“You’re right,” she said. She took a deep breath. “I’ll talk to the stonemasons from Winter’s Town about it.”

Tyrion reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder, then went over to help Shae. Grenn and Harry came to sit with them, both covered in dirt and holding steaming cups of stew. They stopped talking about the plans for a few minutes and instead talked about anything and everything that had nothing to do with the Others or the dead. Harry talked about horses, Sansa and Jon told the other two about the silly pranks that they used to play on each other as children, and Grenn had a few stories about the drunken Maester Harmune at Eastwatch.

“Do you think they survived? The men at Eastwatch?” asked Grenn.

Jon doubted it, but he said, “Yeah, they could’ve sailed to Skagos.”

Grenn nodded.

Jon looked around the hall for a moment. Most people had finished their meals and were sitting and talking around the tables. He stood.

“Better get back to work,” he said.

***

As much as Dany would have liked to have a private tent with Irri, she had to admit that the extra warmth the shared tent provided made it worth it. It was a small tent, only meant to fit two or three people, but they had managed to cram in three humans, a direwolf and two Children of the Forest. Dany was a little crowded, smashed between Irri and Nymeria the wolf, but at least she was warm.

The sun began to rise and a horn sounded, the call from the guards for the rest of the camp to awake. Nymeria sat up, nearly knocking off the Children, who had been sleeping on top of her. Brighteye said something, still melodious and sweet sounding, but also a tad irritated. Dany wanted to burrow deeper into her dragon cloak and sleep for a few more hours, but Irri shook her gently. Dany got onto her hands and knees and crawled out of the tent after Arya.

All around her the warriors were doing the same, slowly donning their armor and cloaks and then walking over to the wagons for a meal before they began their ride for the day. They had had no sign of the wights yets, but the raven and the wolves were growing more and more on edge. Dany suspected they were not far now.

The raven cawed, a gravelly sound that sounded like he was saying, “Kill, kill, kill.”

Dany wasn’t sure if Bran was warging him now or if the bird was just in a particularly violent mood. It was an odd bird, large and scruffy and capable of saying a few simple words. Usually it cried, “Corn, corn, corn,” until someone fed it, though on occasion, Dany had heard it say, “King” and “Burn.” It could just be Bran trying to communicate, she supposed.

Dany went over to Sycorax, ready to put her saddle on and fly out for the day’s first scouting, but Irri pulled her back and led her over to the one of the food wagons first. Jorah and his cousin, Alysane, were already there, helping to pass out bread and jerky.

“Do you think we’ll see any today?” asked Alysane, without needing to explain what she was speaking about. They were all tense with anticipation for their upcoming fights with the wights.

“I do,” said Dany.

The winds were getting colder around them and the clouds to the north were threatening more winter storms. The raven flew over to them, then, and landed atop the food wagon.

“Corn! Corn, corn,” it cawed.

“Here, quiet,” said Jorah, tossing a handful of grains onto the ground. 

It flew down and began to peck for them in the snow. Occasionally it would stop and eye Dany, tilting its head from side to side to get a better look at her. It had rather beady eyes.

“King,” it said.

The Children came over and Jorah gave them some jerky. They tore into it with sharp little teeth. They looked sweet and childlike, but Dany would never want to give them a reason to turn those teeth and claws on her. Little Spear, who had lost their spear killing the roc, had made themself a new bow and a set of arrows fletched with pigeon and crow feathers. 

“We should cross the Last River today,” said Jorah. “And then it’s only a few miles more to the Last Hearth.”

Last Hearth was the seat of House Umber, which had long before sent its armies south to fight the Freys and the Boltons. They had sent several messages from the Greatjon Umber, who was already at Winterfell, telling the rest of his people to evacuate south. Dany supposed they would find out soon enough if the people had listened.

Dany finished her meal and walked back to the dragons with Irri. The Children ran ahead of them and jumped up onto the dragons. Sycorax turned and saw Little Spear on her back and looked at Dany on the ground. She didn’t growl. Dany frowned, confused. Usually the dragon hated having anyone on her back who was not Dany, but it was like Sycorax barely noticed the Child. Viserion, too, was still laying down calmly in the snow as Brighteye ran over his back. Dany shook her head and climbed into the saddle.

They still needed Arya, Jace, and Alleras before they took flight. Irri blew her warhorn and the three of them came running, quickly taking their seats, Alleras still with a half-eaten piece of bread in his hand.

***

“Must I go?” asked a young girl, as Davos lifted her into the wagon. She was one of the children from Winter’s Town, a grey-eyed girl of about eleven.

“You must,” said her mother.

“I can stay. I can fight with you,” the girl insisted.

The mother kissed the girl on the cheek and told her to behave herself in White Harbor.

“But I want to stay with you,” said the girl.

“Well, they will need you down in White Harbor,” said Davos.

She cocked her head and gave him a curious look.

Davos continued, “A brave girl like you, they’ll need you to protect them. The small children, especially, they’ll be afraid and they might miss their families, and they’ll need someone like you to let them know that everything’s alright, that you’re keeping them all safe.”

The girl looked at him for a moment, then she nodded and climbed back into the wagon with the other children. The mother thanked Davos and gave her daughter one last wave. A wildling man came up with a pregnant woman, and he and Davos helped her climb into the wagon.

“Alright?” asked Edd, coming over to Davos.

“I am,” said Davos. He lifted a wildling boy into the wagon. “Good to know they’ll be safe, though I imagine the castle will be a little gloomier with all the children gone.”

“It’s always sort of gloomy.” Edd looked up at the tall grey walls. 

It was a castle built for defense and strength more than pretty looks, which Davos appreciated, especially given what was coming for them.

“You look like you’re walking better,” said Davos.

“I suppose you don’t really need your little toes.”

The maester had had to cut them both off after they had died of frost bite. Edd’s nose, though, which had also gotten frostbitten, was making a much better recovery.

“I’m still not much help with the digging and the fence building, but I’m getting better at making arrowheads,” said Edd. He raised his hand and showed Davos all the little cuts and scratches from working with the obsidian.

“Dangerous work,” said Davos, with a half smile.

He lifted one more child into the wagon and then looked around the yard.

“I think that’s all of them,” he said.

Hodor and Sansa came over, carrying bundles of blankets and food, and added them in with the children. Then Davos gave a whistle. The horse drivers flicked their reins and the three wagons pulled out of the yard and through the East Gate. Some of the children stood up in the wagon beds, waving a final goodbye to their families.

Over in the godswood, they heard Summer howl.

“Hodor?” said Hodor, looking a little nervous.

“It’s alright, Hodor. I should check on Bran,” said Sansa. 

Davos thought he could see a hint of nervousness in her eyes, as well. Bran had told them that the cavalry had not yet met with the wight army, but he also said they were growing close to one another. With the children leaving and the cavalry away fighting the wights, the mood in Winterfell had grown more and more somber. Still, Davos thought the only real remedy was to keep busy. Build the fence and the trench, reinforce the walls, and make weapons. It was all they could do for now.

***

The Last River snaked beneath them, frozen and grey. They had left the cavalry behind, so that they could scout the wight army from high above, with Bran’s raven flying just in front of the dragons. Dany had expected the raven to vere more to the east, toward the Last Hearth, but instead it kept to the north. The dragons flew close to each other and kept well above spear range, and the frozen lands stretched out around them. They saw few farmers or signs of life below, which Dany hoped meant that the evacuation had been at least partially successful. Although, she had expected to pass more people on the Kingsroad.

Dany was scanning the lands to the west when she heard a short blast of Irri’s horn. She looked over and Irri pointed to the east.

There they were, the massive horde of corpses.

Viserion and Sycorax stayed up in the air, while the raven flew them over the army and then curved back down south toward the Last Hearth. The castle came into view, smaller than Winterfell, less than half size, but well defendable. When they passed over the raven flew back and landed on Sycorax.

“High, high, high,” it cawed.

Dany told Sycorax to fly even higher and Viserion followed. It seemed they had found the Others, as well as the wights. Last Hearth had fallen to the dead.

The cavalry had crossed the river by the time the dragons were able to meet back with them. They landed and the ten commanders rode over. One of the Northmen had given a map to Brienne, and Arya climbed down from Sycorax to show them on the map where the wights were clustered and where the Others were.

“We’ll avoid Last Hearth,” said Dany. “Seven battalions - the wolves with them - will ride north and hit them from the west. Don’t get close. Just hit them with arrows and retreat. Try to make your way back south, but the western mountains should provide good cover if they manage to flank you. The other three battalions will ride down the river and wait south of the Last Hearth for any that may travel that way.”

“If we draw some of them over the river, you could burn the bridge, trap them,” said Stalwart Shield.

Dany nodded to him.

“And remind your men that every loss of ours is another soldier for them. No reckless heroes today,” said Dany.

She looked over at Irri, who was giving her a bit of a smirk. Dany shook her head. She wasn’t quite as reckless as she had once been, at least.

The commanders went back to their men and Arya climbed back onto Sycorax.

“Time to kill the dead,” said Alleras.


	42. The Wights

“Come on,” said Jon, leading Sansa out into the training yard.

“I’m not a fighter, Jon. I just know I won’t be good at it. I’m good at other things,” she said, but Jon didn’t stop walking. 

“You carry that dagger around. You should know how to use it,” was all he said.

Sansa shook her head, but Jon didn’t see.

“It’s ceremonial,” said Sansa, a little weakly. Really it was more like a trophy for killing Littlefinger and freeing herself.

“Look,” Jon said, slowing down a little, “During the battle, you’re going to be in the Great Keep, the safest place to be. But if, somehow, they do manage to get through, then you should have at least some way of protecting yourself.”

“If they get past you and all the soldiers, I don’t see what chance I’ll have.”

They reached the training yard and Jon held out his hand for the dagger, which Sansa handed over.

“You never know. You might even kill an Other with this,” said Jon.

Sansa gave him a doubtful look.

***

Dany and Irri waited for the battalions to get into place, while they stayed high and far enough away in the air that they wouldn’t yet be spotted. The raven sat on Viserion, saying nothing, which Dany supposed was a good sign. Dany looked down and saw Aggo’s battalion moving forward to the east, with the other battalions spread out on either side.

“You ready?” Dany asked, looking back at Arya, Alleras, and Little Spear.

Arya and Alleras both held their bows and knocked their first arrows. Little Spear couldn’t understand their language, but they seemed to understand what was happening and got their own bow ready.

Dany turned back and leaned down over Sycorax.

“Dive,” she said in Valyrian.

Sycorax tilted forward and fell, tucking her wings into her body to increase her speed. Down they went, and the army of the wights came rushing toward them. They aimed for closer to the center of the army, leaving the edges of the horde for the cavalry to attack.

Massive could not even begin to describe the wight army. Dany didn’t even know what to call a group of such size. Five hundred thousand? A million? Ten million? She had no idea. The dead soldiers covered the icy lands like a swarm of ants, stretching out in every direction.

When Sycorax was low enough, she began to breathe fire. Beneath them, wights were consumed by the flames and some were thrown up into the air by the power of the dragonfire. Dany wished that the burning ones would catch all the ones around them on fire, but with the thick snow beneath them, they were able to stop the spread quickly enough. Only the ones directly hit by the flames were dying.

Viserion swooped down just to Dany’s right and burned through a strip of wights. For a moment, he and Sycorax flew side by side, their black and white fires mixing together.

Arya tapped Dany on the back.

“We should kill the giants,” she said pointing to two dead giants, one of whom rode an enormous half-decayed mammoth.

Sycorax curved over to the giants and hovered for a moment. She breathed a powerful stream of black fire down on them all. It took a few moments longer to burn them than it did the smaller wights and in that time, Dany felt an arrow fly just over her back.

“Up!” she shouted at Sycorax, and the dragon pulled away from the giants, who collapsed down in flames. 

Dany saw three dragonglass arrows fly out from behind her and land in the chests of two of the wight archers. They turned away from the ashen remains of the giants and continued burning the human wights, keeping a quick pace to avoid any arrow fire.

“You should really wear armor. We all should,” said Arya.

“It’s too heavy. Sycorax needs to be able to move quickly,” Dany said.

Dany saw some of the wight direwolves and turned Sycorax to kill them. Then they went back closer to Viserion, burning wights next to the ones he had killed.

The raven had been flying along with them, but then it began to act strange, flying close to Sycorax’s face and flapping its wings frantically.

“Run, run, run!” it screamed.

Sycorax pulled up higher in the air, shaking her head a little, as the raven continued to scream and fly at her face. Dany saw Irri and Viserion look at them and she waved at Irri to follow. They flew quickly toward the west, where the cavalry was fighting.

“Run, run, run,” screamed the raven.

The wind picked up and the snow began to fall harder around them. Dany fought to keep her eyes open against the stinging snow, squinting out all around her. They climbed higher in the sky, moving out of range of any spears or arrows, until they came through the top of the clouds. It was clearer up so high, but still very cold. A few seconds later, Irri and Viserion broke through, and they hovered together.

“Run, run, run,” screamed the raven.

Dany looked around. There was no one up there, except for them. It was peaceful in a way, flying above the winter storms. The sun shone down and the sky was a smooth blue-gray color. Their breaths all came out in icy puffs.

Suddenly something came rocketing out of the clouds so quickly that Dany barely had time to react to it. There was a roc, bursting upward, breaking into view, and on its back was a pale rider, an Other, who had spear aimed right at Sycorax.

The dragon rolled out of the way, and Dany felt the lurch as they all went upside down. Sycorax fell in that position down through the cloud, and then righted herself again. They were back in the snowstorm beneath the clouds, and it was coming down harder than ever. Dany heard Irri scream above them. She couldn’t see Irri, though, and couldn’t see Viserion.

“Go back up!” shouted Dany.

Sycorax flew up and came through the clouds again. There was no sight of Viserion, but the roc was flying about a two hundred feet away. The Other saw them, and the roc turned, heading straight for them. The Other had another spear in her hand.

Dany leaned forward and Sycorax surged forward toward the roc.

“Wait!” shouted Alleras, but Dany could barely hear him.

The Other raised her spear, standing up in a crouch on the roc’s back. She pulled back, about to throw it. Then Little Spear ran forward, past Dany, and up Sycorax’s neck. Little Spear drew back an arrow, and without hesitation, released it. 

The arrow sailed forward and planted itself right in the neck of the Other, just above her strange, reflective armor. She was knocked backward off of the roc, and fell down into the clouds without a sound.

The roc screamed and dove at Sycorax’s head, with its talons outstretched. Arya and Alleras each managed to shot off an arrow, which both hit the roc in its chest. But the roc was moving too quickly, and it still collided with Sycorax’s head, knocking the dragon to the side. 

Sycorax quickly right herself, looking mostly unharmed, and the roc plunged downward. But Little Spear was gone. Dany looked behind her, but she saw only Arya and Alleras, both with the same lost expression on their faces. The Child had been knocked from the dragon and had fallen.

***

Sycorax had rolled out of the way when the Other first attacked, but Viserion had tried to dive. Irri didn’t see the Other release her ice spear, but she felt when it hit. Blood splattered over Irri’s back and she heard a shriek from behind her. For a moment, she thought the spear had hit Viserion, but after his initial fall, the dragon pulled back up and flew straight, just beneath the clouds.

Irri turned around to look.

Brighteye was holding tightly to the saddle with their eyes wide and shocked. Jace, however. Jace was gone. He hadn’t just been killed. He had been shattered. Obliterated.

Irri screamed.

She wanted to cry, wanted to scream some more. She couldn’t, though. The Other was still out there and Irri couldn’t see Dany. Brighteye climbed forward in the saddle until they were just behind Irri. They removed the leftover pieces of Jace from the stirrups and dropped them off the dragon. Viserion shrieked. Irri thought he must be looking for Sycorax.

Then Brighteye grabbed Irri’s arm and pointed with a clawed finger. Irri saw a figure, a pale figure falling down through the clouds, the Other. Viserion flew toward it and then two more shapes came tumbling downward. One was large and dark, and for one horrid moment, Irri thought it was Sycorax. But it was shorter and feathered, the body of the roc. The second was much smaller, tiny in comparison to the roc.

Brighteye screamed.

Viserion dove for the little figure, barreling as fast as he could through the snow and toward the ground, chasing it. He pulled up and snatched at the figure with his claws, but Irri couldn’t see if he caught it. She leaned out in the saddle, but she couldn’t tell. Brighteye was breathing hard beside her.

“Go back up,” Irri told Viserion.

He flew higher and higher until they broke above the clouds once more. Irri saw Sycorax and felt a flood of relief. They flew closer and Irri could see Dany, Arya, and Alleras all sitting safely on her back. Viserion flew up a little higher than Sycorax and dropped something down on top of her. He flew lower, then, and the two dragons flapped their wings, staying in place beside each other. Little Spear gave them a wave from Sycorax’s back, and Brighteye’s breathing returned to normal. They said something in the true tongue and leaned against Irri.

Dany seemed to notice that Jace was gone and her expression grew dark. Sycorax flew as close to Viserion as she could get.

“Sound the retreat!” Dany shouted.

Irri nodded.

They flew down, back to where the cavalry was. Irri could see one of the battalions fire their arrows at a group of wights and then race away as the more wights pursued. They were slow, the wights, and the battalion was soon safely away.

Viserion dropped low and Irri blew her warhorn, as they sailed over the battalions. The riders turned and ran for the south, back toward the bridge over the Last River. The dragons stayed back toward the rear of the cavalry, guarding their retreat. The wights were too slow, though, and they were soon left far behind.

The cavalry reached the bridge and galloped across it. Viserion and Sycorax burned the bridge and the ice over the river behind them, hoping the quick-moving water would at least slow the wight army’s progress. They met back up with the other three battalions, and made their camp three miles south of the river.

When the dragons landed, Irri got off and walked over to Dany. She felt numb. Jace’s blood still coated her back. Brighteye and Little Spear ran for each other, singing and talking to each other and holding each other’s faces. Dany pulled Irri aside and, taking handfuls of snow, she did her best to clean Irri’s cloak and hair. When she had finished, Dany pulled her close and kissed her cheek. Irri shivered.

Irri had lost track of the raven during the Other’s attack, but she saw it now, alighting on Sycorax.

“Corn,” it said.

That seemed to mean they were safe for now.

***

There was the sound of a horn and Sansa ran up to the walls to see what it was for. It was too early for the cavalry to return. Bran had told them they were still around the Last River area. Sansa climbed up on the inner wall, just over the East Gate and saw an army marching beneath golden banners. Sansa couldn’t see the details of the army yet, but she could see that it was a very large host. 

“The Golden Company,” said the voice of Nymeria Sand from behind Sansa.

Sansa jumped a little in spite of herself. She hadn’t heard Nymeria approach, but that was typical for both Nymeria and Alleras. They moved like cats through the hallways, silent and stealthy.

“How many are there?” asked Sansa.

“About five hundred knights and just as many squires. A thousand archers. The rest are infantry, ten thousand in total.”

“Good,” said Sansa. More fighters meant a better chance of surviving the Others, but lodging and food was fast becoming a concern. The winter food stores wouldn’t last long with so many people taking from them.

The Golden Company arrived at Winter’s Town, about half a mile from Winterfell. The town had already been evacuated, with the children sent down to White Harbor and the adults staying within the walls of Winterfell. The sellswords passed through the empty town and as they grew closer, Nymeria Sand began pointing things out to Sansa.

“That’s Aegon, at the head of the column, on the white horse,” she said. 

Sansa couldn’t see Aegon’s face yet. His golden armor certainly looked splendid, though not very practical.

“Beside him is Jon Connington, an old knight,” Nymeria continued. “Then Harry Strickland. He leads the Company. He is a complete coward, but the rest still follow him. And then my sisters and my cousin are just behind them. That’s Obara, with the spear, and Tyene in the middle. And then Arianne in the golden cloak. Arianne doesn’t know how to fight, but she has come despite this, because she wants to marry Aegon and become queen.” Nymeria grinned and Sansa laughed.

“Good luck to her,” said Sansa.

The back of the column came out of Winter’s Town and Sansa saw dozens of wagons.

“Is that all food?” she asked.

“I imagine some blankets and other supplies, as well, but mostly food.”

Sansa said a silent thank you to the gods.

“We should probably go down and meet them at the gate,” said Sansa. 

She led the way back down the staircase and told the guards there to lower the drawbridge and open the door. Jon and Harry Hardyng joined her as the Golden Company rode in, even more gleaming and opulent up close than they had been from a distance. Harry eyed their armor with some disdain. His own was high quality and had a few adornments, but the knights of the Vale generally chose functionality over decoration.

Aegon Targaryen stopped his horse in front of them and looked from Jon to Harry.

“Can I assume that one of you is the Lord of Winterfell?” Aegon asked.

Jon crossed his arms and looked Aegon over for a moment. Then he nodded his head at Sansa and said, “She is.”

“This is Lady Hardyng, born of House Stark, and Lady of Winterfell,” added Harry.

“Forgive me, Lady Hardyng,” said Aegon with a bow of his head. He dismounted his horse and handed it over to one of the squires.

“With the army and the supplies you have brought us, I can forgive a great deal,” said Sansa, watching as the soldiers continued pouring into Winterfell. “This is my husband, Ser Harrold Hardyng, and my brother, Jon.”

Aegon nodded to each and then looked around the courtyard and up toward the sky.

“Is my aunt here?” he asked.

“Danaerys took a vanguard of cavalry to fight the wights in the north. We expect them back in a matter of weeks. Until then, we do what we can to prepare,” said Sansa.

“You’ve done a great deal from the look of it.”

Sansa smiled. They had completed half of the wooden fence and a third of the trench. The spikes around the castle were completed and more dragonglass and fire weapons were made by the day. 

“Your Grace, if you would like, I can show you to our steward. He can help your men find their lodgings,” said Jon.

In a way, Sansa was a little grateful that Stannis had died. It meant that he and Aegon would not be fighting with each other over who was the true king. Sansa hadn’t truly wanted to call either one of them ‘your grace,’ but she would, at least until the Others were defeated. Jon led Aegon and a few of the others in the Company away to find the steward. Nymeria had been speaking with her sisters and cousin on the other side of the gate, but Arianne pulled away to join Aegon and Jon.

“I don’t like him,” said Harry, as he and Sansa watched them go.

“You don’t need to like him. You just need to fight next to him and his men.”

“Seven hells, how many are there?” he asked as the column continued to march into the courtyard.

“Ten thousand.”

Harry nodded. “That will make a difference, I suppose.”

“It had better,” said Sansa.


	43. The Retreat

After Jace had died and Viserion and Little Spear had both come close to joining him, Dany was more cautious when they attacked the wights. The cavalry kept to the woods near the long lake, where they would wait for the wight army to come by on their march. The archers would hit them with a few volleys and then retreat and wait for them to come again. They weren’t killing as many of the wights as Dany would have liked, but they also were losing very few of their own warriors.

Dany and Irri followed the raven on their dragons, and whenever he cawed at them to run, they fly away as quickly as possible, avoiding another confrontation with the Others. There were two of the rocs left for the Others to ride, according to Tormund, unless they had managed to find more of them south of the Wall. They all doubted that. It seemed that with so few left the Others were keeping their birds close to them, as Dany saw no sight of the rocs or the Others themselves.

They made their way south, moving slowly, though not as slowly as the wight army. They always made their camp at least twenty miles south of the Others and their army. The wights were slow, but they could march day and night without any pause. 

Things went well for the cavalry, for a time, and then as they grew closer to Winterfell, they began to get much worse.

One of the battalion commanders, a older southron lord, led his soldiers up for an ambush on the wights, near the upper fork of the White Knife river. Dany and Irri were flying closer to the mountains at the time, and most of the cavalry forces were with them. Out of the hundred rider that followed the southron lord, only fourteen returned to the camp that night. They said they had been caught in a trap, not just by wights, but by the Others, themselves, seven of them. The fourteen riders were lucky to have escaped, but their companions were now fighting in the dead army.

“I think the Others are staying close to each other now, after they lost the one on the roc,” said Irri, after it happened.

Dany agreed. Separated, the Others were vulnerable, but clustered together, Dany didn’t want to risk the dragons’ lives going after them.

The second blow to the cavalry came, not with the death of any humans, but the death of the raven. It happened one day as Dany and Irri were burning wights just a few miles west of the Kingsroad. The raven seemed calm enough, flying in front of them and every so often saying, “Kill, kill, kill.” But then they heard more cawing from the north. A murder of wight crows came flying for them, hundreds of them, each smaller and a little quicker than the old raven. Some were so ragged that Dany could not tell how they kept themselves in the air, but they did. The dragons tried to burn them away, but several got through and slammed their bodies into the raven. They scratched and bit at him, and pecked out his eyes. Sycorax and Viserion killed the rest of the crows, but the damage had already been done and Bran’s raven was dead.

Perhaps Bran could send them another one, but until then, they were blind.

Arya set up the wolves as sentries around their camps. The wolves could smell the wights coming at least, though Dany wasn’t sure if they could sense the Others in the same way. She didn’t know if the Others even had a scent, as inhuman and unearthly as they were.

One night, Dany got the answer to that question. In the camp, they heard a wolf’s cry - not a howl to warn them, but a dying scream. Nymeria leapt out of the tent and began to run for the sound, until Arya stopped her. They heard more shrieks from the wolves. Then the campfires blew out in the wind. A brief hush fell over the camp.

Dany ran for Sycorax, with Irri behind her. The air was freezing and the night was so black. Whatever moon there might be was covered by thick clouds, blotting out nearly all light. Dany stumbled and slipped, but she kept running.

“Sound the retreat!” Dany yelled, not sure who could hear here. 

The warhorns began to sound, and men and horses ran past them, nearly knocking Dany and Irri to the ground.  There was a cry in the air, different from a dragon’s. She couldn’t see them, but she could hear the rocs as they dove down and attacked the camp. She grabbed Irri’s hand and they kept running.

The dragons were both sitting up when they reached them, focused on something that Dany couldn’t see. The cold felt like it had invaded Dany’s body, piercing down into her stomach. Viserion growled and then blew a plume bright white fire. With the light it gave off, Dany could see them, all eleven of them, standing between the trees like white shadows. The Others had come. They were so close.

Sycorax shrieked and blew fire, catching several of the trees alights. As they burned, Dany could see the Others walking forward with swords and spears of ice in their hands. Dany felt frozen. She could see one of the Others preparing to throw his spear. Dany stopped breathing. They didn’t have time to escape from this.

There was the sound of hoofbeats, and then the cavalry charged into the burning forest and smashed into the Others. 

Dany breath came back to her in a pained gasp as she saw them. Most of them didn’t even look armed. They had just ridden their horses as hard as they could into the Others. She saw Rakharo raise his Valyrian steel arakh and slash one of the Others across the throat. A moment later, an Other drove its spear into the chest of Rakharo’s horse. He fell and Dany could not longer see him. She could hear the screams of horses and men and see the Others wielding their swords with incredibly speed, cutting down the cavalry around them.

“Go!” shouted Irri, pushing Dany’s shoulders.

Dany ran up onto Sycorax. She didn’t know where Arya was, or Alleras, or the Children, but they couldn’t wait for any of them. Sycorax spread her wings and leapt up. She roared angrily at the sky. Dany looked down at the burning forest below and the battle within it. Several of the riders were retreating from it, their horses running like crazed beasts from the flames and the Others. Viserion rose up above it, just below Sycorax.

And then Dany saw the spear come arcing out of the trees. Viserion tried to twist to the side, but the spear struck him on his right hind leg, and this spear - this ice spear of the Others - shattered the dragon’s ankle joint and severed his foot completely. Viserion screamed as black blood sprayed out of the wound and onto the ground below. He lurched dangerously to the side.

“Keep flying, keep flying,” said Dany, her voice sounding strained and desperate to her own ears.

Viserion dropped downward, but then he began to flap his wings again, still hissing and screaming as he went. But he stayed in the air, and so did Irri.

They flew to the south, following along the White Knife, until they were far from the Others and then the dragons landed. Viserion caught himself on his remaining left leg, but then collapsed forward. The saddle held Irri in place, preventing her from being thrown from his back. Dany and Irri both climbed down and ran to see Viserion’s wound. The stump was dripping with hot blood, which fell onto the snow and hissed up as steam. There was an acrid, sulfuric smell in the air, coming off of it.

Sycorax made a sad, moaning sort of sound and walked forward, touching her nose to Viserion’s. He gave a weak little grunt back to her. She turned and brought her head over to the injured leg, sniffing at it. She flicked her tongue out at it and then shook out her head. Very gently, she pushed Irri and Dany away with her nose. They backed away. Sycorax began to blow a small stream of fire over the wound, and slowly the blood began to harden and form a thick scab. When she had finished, she lay down next to Viserion. 

Dany went over and pet his head gently. He was either asleep or unconscious, but his breathing was steady enough.

Irri and Dany had no tents or blankets, only the cloaks the wore. Sycorax had burned away the snow on the ground, and so they lay down next to her and she covered them with her wing. Neither of them spoke, but they clung tightly to each other until the dawn came.

***

The surviving cavalry found them just over a day later. Nymeria was the first to come, and Dany could see Brighteye and Little Spear sitting on the direwolf’s back, though the other wolves seemed to be gone. Nymeria raced over to the dragons and was soon followed by the riders. More of them had survived that Dany had expected, but they had lost over a third of their numbers.

Dany ran to Jorah when she saw him, and then Arya, and hugged them both. Her bloodriders came riding up next. Rakharo had broken his shoulder and had a bad burn on his left side, but he was alive, sitting on the back of Jhogo’s horse. Aggo still had his bow and some arrows, making him one of the few who had managed to grab his weapons before fleeing from the attack. Rakharo leaned down to pull something out of the saddlebag next to him, though he winced at the pain of doing so. He grabbed the head of an Other and handed it to Dany. She looked at the pale dead face and the white hair of it. 

“I lost my arakh,” Rakharo said.

Dany patted his leg.

“If we all survive this, I will have a new one made for you,” she said.

“We killed two more of them, along with that one, I think,” said Jorah.

“So there are eight left?” asked Irri.

Jorah nodded, but said he wasn’t sure.

“Who killed them?” asked Dany.

“I know Brienne of Tarth did one,” said Jorah. They looked over to where Brienne was being helped down from her horse by Tormund and her squire. She seemed injured, as well, though not so seriously as Rakharo.

Dany scanned more of the faces. She saw Jorah’s cousin, Alysane, riding with her friend, Asha Greyjoy. Alleras was still alive, as well, and had managed to find a horse for himself.

“Where are the Unsullied?” she asked. She didn’t see any of them.

Jorah touched her arm. “They rode at the back, most of them survived.”

“Stalwart Shield?” she asked.

“He lives to fight again.”

Dany went to find the Unsullied, while Irri sought out Qhono and her khalasar. 

They set up their camp and slept through part of the day. The wights were less active in the daytime, so the cavalry had been marching through the night. Dany, however, didn’t sleep for a moment. She was too nervous for another attack, even though the sun was high and shining a little through the clouds. Instead, Dany gathered up the dried blood of Viserion that had fallen on the ground and put it into an empty waterskin. Once she had enough, she sat on top of Sycorax and watched over the camp, keeping an eye out for rocs, Others, or dead men.

They had a two day ride back to Winterfell, and they would just have to pray that Viserion could make the flight.

***

Behind the walls of Winterfell, Bran told them of the cavalry’s return before the horns sounded, and so Jon and Sansa were waiting on the high inner wall with him and Meera. Hodor had carried up Bran to see the return and the others had followed. Jon looked down at the yard, at the completed defenses around the castle and then over at the Kingsroad, toward the north.

One of the keen-eyed guards on the walls must have spotted them, because his horn blew.

“There,” said Meera.

Then Jon saw it, the two dragons flying over the fields. There was something a little strange about the way Viserion was flying, though. He was listing a little to one side. They reached the castle in seconds, flying over the walls, and then Jon saw the dragon’s missing foot. He heard Sansa suck in a gasp as she saw it, as well.

“What happened, Bran?” asked Sansa.

“I lost sight of them. The Others killed the raven I was warging. I’ve only seen brief glimpses of them since, through the eyes of the weirwoods. I didn’t see this.”

Bran shook his head a little.

Viserion landed heavily in the yard, and Sycorax next to him. Jon led the way down the steps, moving quickly to reach the dragons. 

Dany, Arya, and the Children were standing next to the dragons when they arrived. Sansa immediately grabbed Arya and pulled her into a hug.

“Where’s Irri?” Meera asked.

“She’s with the riders. She didn’t want to put any extra weight on Viserion,” said Dany.

Jon walked around to look at Viserion’s wounded leg. The dragon was standing on his wings and his left foot, holding his right leg gingerly. The wound was black and burnt looking.

“What happened?” he asked.

“The Others,” said Dany.

Jon reached out and touched Viserion’s side. The dragon let out a pained sort of whine.

“We killed four, but eight are still coming,” said Arya, finally released from Sansa’s hug.

“When?” asked Jon.

“Three days.”

***

Dany stood in one of the meeting rooms of the Great Keep and one of the few empty rooms in all the buildings of Winterfell. With the arrival of the Golden Company and the return of the cavalry, it seemed like every interior space was being used. People slept in the Great Hall, in every tower, and even the armory and the stables. They kept the meeting room clear, however, as it was necessary for their planning. So many armies had come together, and it was crowded enough during the meeting. Dany looked around the table at all the various commanders and leaders from the Golden Company, the Westerosi Lords and Ladies, the Unsullied, the Dothraki, and many knights. Dany and Irri each had a seat at the table, with Qhono, Stalwart Shield, and Dany’s bloodriders standing behind them. 

The Starks had laid out a map of Winterfell and Jon Snow was telling them about the completed fortifications in and around the castle: the wooden fence, the trench lined with pitch and oil, the chevrons of dragonglass spikes, and the trebuchets that could not fit through the gates. Jon finished his talk and looked over at Dany, who stood.

“We must delay the wights as long as we can, keep them outside the castle walls, until we can kill the Others. Once the Others are dead, the wights pose little threat to the dragons. We can burn them easily. But we must kill the Others, the eight that remain alive.” She paused, looking over the map for a moment, and then continued. “Behind the fence we will have cavalry, armed with bows, dragonglass spears, and swords to kill the wights that make it over the fence.”

“If the swords are not Valyrian steel, will they be of any use?” asked Alysane Mormont.

“The wights can be killed by fire, so I will light the swords aflame before the battle,” said Dany. 

There were a few confused frowns around the room, but Jorah and Irri both nodded to her.

“We’ll put the Dothraki riders there, and perhaps three hundred knights of Westeros and the Golden Company there, between the fence and the trench.”

Harry Strickland, the leader of the Golden Company, interrupted Dany then, asking, “Should not you defer to your king in such matters?” He looked over at Aegon.

The eyes in the room all turned to Strickland. Dany saw Aggo cross his arms, Sansa give Strickland a disdainful look, and the rest all raised their eyebrows at him. Strickland hunched a little under their gazes.

“That’s quite alright,” said Aegon quickly. “I value my aunt’s advice, and she has been here at Winterfell much longer than we have.”

Dany turned back to the map.

“We’ll place twenty squires around the trench and twenty gangplanks spanning it. When the wights overwhelm the fence, the cavalry will retreat over the planks. The squires will pull back the planks and light the trench once the cavalry has crossed. Tell your men not to wait too long to retreat. The mounted archers may continue to fire on the wights and then retreat through the gaps in the spikes to the castle. The trench will burn for a few minutes, but it will go out. The wights will reach the chevrons and be funnelled through the gaps near each gate. At each gap we will have a phalanx of heavily armored infantry - that will be the Unsullied and the knights, with shields and dragonglass spears. We will keep the gates open for their retreat and then raise the drawbridge and lower the gates.”

“How will they be able to retreat with the horde upon them?” asked Ser Davos.

Irri answered. “Viserion’s injury prevents him from flying far, but he can still fly. He and I will be on the walls to burn the wights and allow the knights to retreat into the castle.”

Sansa stood and came over next to Dany.

“There will be archers lining the inner and outer walls, the guard turrets, and the castles. The injured and those who cannot fight will be in the upper floors of the Great Keep. If the wights make it through the walls of Winterfell, then all are to retreat to the Great Keep, the First Keep, or the Broken Tower.”

“Make it past two walls, each over fifty feet tall?” asked one of the southron lords with a scoff in his voice.

“They made it past the Wall and that was seven hundred feet tall,” said Edd.

“We must prepare for the possibility. Ensure your men know where they should retreat,” said Dany.

The southron nodded, his skepticism gone.

Dany leaned forward on the table and looked around at them all.

“Two more nights and the horde will be upon us. Get rest. Tell your men to rest. And when the sun sets the day after tomorrow, be ready to fight the army of the dead.”

The room was quiet for a moment. Then Dany straightened and dismissed them. They looked afraid, she thought, as she watched them leave. They probably should be.


	44. The Last Night

“To the Last Night,” said Rakharo, raising a glass with his good arm. There was something so final about the way he said it, as if it were not just the last night before the battle, but the last night of all.

“The Last Night,” said the rest, raising their glasses, too.

Dany leaned back in her chair and looked at them. They had all gathered in the room that her bloodriders shared, a small enough room but full of candles and light. They had all been with her for so long. It had been years since Irri and Jorah had helped her escape her marriage, years since she first rode with Jhiqui and the bloodriders on the Dothraki Sea, years since she stood beside Missandei on the Plaza of Pride and saw Stalwart Shield and the Unsullied gain their freedom. They had all followed her across the ocean for this. 

Dany took a sip of her wine. The Others would arrive the following night, so they were allowing themselves a small amount of alcohol to drink. It wasn’t particularly good wine, but it made them all feel just a tiny bit warmer.

“You aren’t still thinking of fighting?” Jhiqui asked Rakharo.

“Of course I am. I still have one good arm,” he said.

She gave him a look that was half concern and half fury.

“You should rest, my friend. You can protect the ones in the Great Keep,” said Stalwart Shield.

Rakharo looked like he wanted to argue further, but gave up when Aggo, Dany, and Irri also insisted he stay in the Great Keep.

“There will always be other battles,” said Dany. She took Irri’s hand and looked into the candle flames. 

“And you may see some fighting, if the rest of us all die,” said Stalwart.

Dany gave him a nudge, but Rakharo chuckled.

“Fifteen thousand of us against… half a million wights,” said Jorah.

“The Others should run screaming,” said Irri.

He nodded and took another drink.

***

Jorah found his cousin, Alysane, sitting around a small campfire near the stables with Asha, Theon, and Jeyne Poole. Jeyne was still skittish and quiet, but she seemed calm enough as she pet the nose of one of the nearby horses. She and Theon feared many things after their time with the Boltons, but Jorah didn’t think that death was one of them.

“Alright, cousin?” asked Alysane when he approached.

“I must admit, I am a little envious of all your sisters at the moment - Lyanna home on Bear Island and the other two in the Neck.”

“Or Dacey, in her grave,” said Alysane. She was always a little gruff and serious, but usually not quite so bleak. Jorah sat beside her.

“Back home we have a saying. ‘What is dead may never die.’ Let’s hope that isn’t true,” said Asha. She nudged her brother a little as she said it. She had a shard of dragonglass in her hands, which she fiddled with as she spoke.

“We’ll win,” said Theon. He spoke so softly that Jorah almost didn’t hear him. 

“Why’s that?” asked Alysane.

“The cost of losing is too high. So we’ll win,” he said.

Jorah watched him. Theon didn’t say it out of hope, but desperation. Asha set down her piece of obsidian and patted his knee.

Then Asha stood. “Well, last night and all. I don’t just want to spend it talking.” She bent down and kissed Theon on top of his head and walked away, looking back once at Alysane and nodding her head. Alysane looked confused. 

Jorah gave her a little push. “Go on,” he said. “She wants you to follow her.”

Alysane did so, and Jeyne Poole came and took one of the empty seats by the fire. Theon shifted closer to her. The three of them were quiet. Jorah had only heard rumors about what the Boltons had done to them and he didn’t care to know more. They were two broken people, but slowly, with help, they were beginning to heal. He didn’t know them well, but he could see it. What a cruel world it would be, to put them through such horrors and then kill them before they could recover.

Maybe Theon was right. Maybe they would win out of sheer desperation.

***

Sansa pressed her fingers into Nymeria’s warm fur, remembering how Lady’s had once felt. Lady had been softer, Sansa thought, but then again, Sansa had brushed her every single day. Nymeria had barely been brushed in the past six years, if she ever had. The wolf yawned and flopped over on her side, taking up most of the floorspace in front of the hearth.

“I wish Rickon were here,” said Jon. Then, he seemed to realize what he had said. “Wait, no, he’s better where he is. Safer.”

Arya laughed and Sansa smiled. She remembered teasing Arya when they were children, for Arya’s unladylike cackle of a laugh, but Sansa enjoyed hearing it now. She liked seeing all her siblings in their brief moments of happiness.

“We’ll see him soon,” said Bran.

“Did you see that in your visions?” asked Sansa.

He shook his head. “No, but perhaps if we say it enough, it will happen.”

“That sounds like one of Old Nan’s sayings,” said Arya. She stood from her chair and came to sit on the floor with Sansa and the wolves. Arya was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “What happened to Old Nan, after we all left Winterfell?”

“Theon said the Boltons sent her to the Dreadfort with their other prisoners,” said Jon. “If they didn’t kill her, then the wights did. But I hope it was quick.”

“It was,” said Bran.

They all looked at him. It still took some getting used to the visions that he had and the impossible things he knew.

Bran continued, “She died in her sleep before they even reached the Dreadfort.”

Sansa nodded. As far as deaths went, that was a good one. If only they could all be so lucky.

“What was your favorite story of hers? I always liked the rat cook,” said Arya.

Sansa leaned over and scratched Summer behind the ears. “Symeon Star-Eyes was mine.”

“Mine, too,” said Bran.

Jon moved his chair a little closer to the fire. “I don’t know, maybe the prince who thought he was a dragon.”

Bran gave Jon a slightly odd look, but he said nothing.

***

There was a knock on the door and Jon went to open it to let Gendry into the room.

“Sorry,” he said, shifting his feet a little. “I was wondering if I could have a word with you, m’la- Arya?”

Arya smirked at him a little and how uncomfortable he looked facing all her siblings.

“Alright,” she said. She gave Nymeria one last pat and stood to follow him out into the hallway. Sansa gave her a look, raising her eyebrows, before Arya left the room.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

He laughed a little. Of course it wasn’t.

“I just wanted to, er, let you know…” He crossed his arms and then uncrossed them immediately. “What I mean is, er, we’ve survived a lot so far, the two of us. I hope we survive again. You, er, you mean a lot to me, Arya.”

“You mean a lot to me, too,” she said, then added, “I mean, you’re alright.”

He laughed.

“Good. Don’t die tomorrow night. I want to see you finish growing up.”

Arya frowned. “I am grown,” she said.

“You’re fourteen.”

“I’m fifteen.”

He stepped forward and kissed her on the forehead.

“Be safe tomorrow. As safe as you can,” he said. And then he turned and left. Arya went back inside the room with her siblings.

***

Jon went to the Wall where he knew Edd and some of the others were keeping an eye out. It wasn’t really necessary for them to do so, not when they had Bran, who could watch the Others through the eyes of ravens and crows. Jon brought up a couple wineskins for them and found them sitting together - Tormund, Edd, Grenn, and Pyp.

“Here he is,” said Tormund, and Jon tossed him one of the skins.

“I thought we had drunk every drop of wine in Winterfell by now,” said Grenn, reaching for the other one.

Jon sat beside him. “Well, we drank all the good stuff. This is all that’s left.”

Tormund shrugged and took a large swig. “I can’t taste the difference,” he said. He passed the skin to Pyp, who coughed a little as he swallowed it.

“That’s wine?” Pyp asked.

“It’s something,” said Edd.

Grenn looked around at them all.

“We’re just about all that’s left of the Night’s Watch. Shame Sam isn’t here,” he said.

“We swapped Sam for Tormund,” said Edd.

Tormund grinned. 

“Better to be in Oldtown than here,” said Jon. “Besides, he’s already killed an Other.”

“Sam the Slayer,” said Grenn, raising the wineskin.

***

Irri was asleep, though she shivered a little in the cold. Dany reached over and touched the smooth skin of her back, and then pulled the furs up to cover Irri. The fire in their room was dying down, so Dany rose and added a few more logs. It crackled and grew into a strong flame again. Dany reached forward and felt the warmth reach her fingertips. She should lay back down and try to sleep, but she felt restless, and though she tried not to admit it to herself, she was scared. She didn’t just fear for her own life, or even just for the lives of those she loved. She feared for everyone, for every single living soul in Winterfell. They all looked to her. She was the Dragon Queen. She was supposed to save them all.

Dany rose and dressed, pulling on her dragon cloak. Quietly, she left the room and walked through the hallways of the Great Keep, down the stairways, and out into the cold night air. There were a few people out in the yard, drinking and trying to make the most of the night. Some of them raised their glasses to her. She nodded to them and continued over to the stables, which the dragons were sleeping next to.

Sycorax raised her head and fixed her eyes on Dany, who reach out and placed her palm on Sycorax’s nose. Dany rubbed her hand over the rough scales. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Sycorax and closed her eyes.

_ Three fires. One for life, one for death, and one eternal _ . 

The Long Night was crawling toward them from the North, the cold threatening to snuff out all light and warmth. The Others came to cover the fires in snow and ice, to freeze the rivers, lakes, and even the oceans. They came to kill. The Others had been human once, long again, before the Children had changed them. Their blood had frozen in their veins and over the centuries they had begun to hate, not just the Children, but every creature with a beating heart and hot blood. 

The Last Hero. Azor Ahai. The Prince that was Promised. The YiTish hero with a monkey’s tail. Hyrkoon the Hero. The Roynish Hero who stopped the darkness with a song.

All over the world, people told stories of an oncoming terror and a great hero who stood against it. Dany didn’t understand the stories until she had dreamt of the woman with the monkey’s tail, the hero who had saved YiTi. The YiTish Hero had not stood alone against the darkness. She had so many others with her. 

When Dany went to Stygai, she had thought she was Azor Ahai, the fated rebirth of the fabled hero. But heroes were not born in prophecy, because prophecy liked to lie. And Azor Ahai was not a person, not really. It was an idea - an idea that people could, for a short time at least, forget their petty rivalries and fight together. The idea had taken root in Asshai, when the ghosts and demons tried to come down from the mountains. It had happened in the Royne, when beasts from the sea had risen up and tried to steal the people on the land. And it had happened in the North, when the Others came the first time, and the Children and the First Men stood together against them.

The Lannisters and the Starks. The free folk and the Night’s Watch. The North and the South. Ice and Fire. They had all come for this final stand against the dead.

Dany opened her eyes.

She pet Sycorax again and then turned back toward the Great Hall. As she crossed the yard, she saw the Children of the Forest watching her, with their wide eyes reflecting the lights of the torches. Wun Wun the giant was sleeping against the wall of the Library Tower and the Children were sitting on his shoulders. Little Spear raised their hand and gave a wave, a gesture the Children had learned from watching the soldiers. They still couldn’t speak a word of common tongue, but they were beginning to copy some of the movements of humans. Dany waved back, wishing she could talk to them, or more so wishing she could understand when they talked.

Dany walked into the Great Hall, where many of the sellswords of the Golden Company were sleeping. She passed through them as quietly as she could and made her way into the tunnel that connected the Great Hall to the Great Keep. She was going to go back upstairs to try and sleep, but then she heard a sound, a song. There was something haunting about it, and something familiar. She began to follow the voice and slowly the words came to her.

“ _ She couldn’t remember their names. They spun her around on the damp old stone, spun away all her sorrow and pain, and she never wanted to leave. _ ”

Dany moved toward the voice. She used to hum that song to herself. She hadn’t remembered the words but the melody had always stayed with her. 

“ _ They danced through the day, and into the night through the snow that swept through the hall. _ ”

Dany stood in the doorway of a small hall, emptier than most, with just a small group of people still awake and sitting by the fire.

“ _ From winter to summer then winter again, 'til the walls did crumble and fall. _ ”

It was Brienne’s squire, Podrick who was singing, with a beautiful, sad voice. She recognized the rest around the fire. Brienne was sitting between Jaime and Tormund. Tyrion and Shae were leaning into each other. Davos was staring at the fire.

“ _ And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave. _ ”

Podrick finished the song and the room fell into silence.

Dany slipped away before they saw her, and quickly rubbed away the tear that had fallen. She didn’t know exactly what the song was about, but something about the words made her long for something that she didn’t remember.

She walked up the stairs and returned to her room with Irri. Out of the window, the sky was just beginning to lighten from black to dark gray as the morning slowly came. Dany climbed back into the bed and Irri rolled over.

“Where have you been?” Irri asked.

“Just walking around. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Your hands are so cold.” Irri took Dany’s hands in her own and rubbed them. 

Dany moved herself closer and kissed Irri.

“You should really get some sleep,” said Irri.

“I’ll sleep in an hour or two,” said Dany, and she kissed Irri more deeply.

***

The blast of a horn woke Dany from her sleep and she leapt from the bed. Her heart was pounding. It was still daylight. They couldn’t possibly be here. The Others would come at night, Bran had said. Irri sat up, listening hard.

“One blast,” she said.

Dany took a deep breath. They had adopted the Night’s Watch signal of horn blasts: one for allies, three for Others and wights. Two had once meant to signal wildlings, but they had no use for that one.

“The Tyrells,” said Dany. 

She had given up hope that they would actually arrive before the Others reached Winterfell. They dressed and ran through the Great Keep, out into the snow, and up to the outer wall. There, she could see them, the green banners with golden roses waving above them.

“Open the gates,” she called, and she heard the message get repeated down to the guards.

Dany smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to include a little of the "Jenny of Oldstones" scene from the show. It was just too good!


	45. The Battle of Winterfell, Pt. 1

The sun fell behind the trees of the wolfwood to the west of Winterfell, going down faster than it seemed it should have. The soldiers had already taken their positions, on the walls, at the gates, and on the field, and together they watched the darkening sky above them. They didn’t speak much, though a few cursed under their breaths or prayed to their gods. It was quiet, and it was very cold. 

Torches had been set up all around the castle to make the field more visible, flickering like beacons in the night. They were no longer trying to avoid the Others. 

They were cold things, between dead and alive. The Others. The White Walkers. The Shadows. They hated all fire and the heat of the sun, and most of all they hated the warm blood of all living things. They would colonize the world with ice if they could.

Dany walked out of the Great Hall and into the courtyard and looked over the armies at each of the four gates. She crossed the yard and went into the quiet godswood, where the Children were waiting next to the ghostly white weirwood tree. They had been sitting against it, but they rose and came over to her, looking up at her. She handed them the wineskin where she had collected the dried blood of Viserion. They nodded and looked up at the sky.

The wind came howling over the walls of Winterfell from the north, blowing snow and ice down on them. The Children took handfuls of the dragon’s blood and began their spell, chanting and feeding the blood to the face that had been carved into the weirwood. Dany turned and left them, and behind her she could hear the winds quiet and fade.

Meera and Bran were waiting next to Sycorax when Dany joined them. The dragon looked strong, glistening black and red in the torchlight. Jorah rode over to them from the Hunter’s Gate. His armor looked plain and scratched next to the Tyrell soldiers and the sellswords of the Golden Company, but Dany knew it was a strong. On his belt was Dark Sister, which Meera had given him to use during the battle, as she preferred her bow and spear.

“I suppose it all ends here,” he said.

“We might even win,” said Dany.

He looked at her and frowned a little.

“I-” he cut himself off. He shook his head and she reached out for his hand.

The horn blew and they waited as it sounded two more times.

Dany let go of Jorah and helped Meera carry Bran up onto Sycorax. They got into the saddle and then Sycorax flew up and over the wall.

***

Brienne had a new horse beneath her, a northern horse, small, but hardy. It stomped nervously as the horn sounded from the walls behind them. Three times it rang out. She looked over at Jaime and then back at Podrick, who stood behind the trench, guarding one of the gangplanks. The white dragon sat high on the outer wall, looking like a ghost above them.

The air hung dead and silent around them, and then, slowly, they began to hear the footsteps beyond the wooden fence. Most of the wights were villagers, hunters, and farmers, but there were some armored soldiers among them, who clanked and stomped, announcing their presence before the rest of the horde.

Brienne’s horse snorted and tossed his head. She saw Aegon’s white stallion rear up once. They could feel the fear of all the riders around them.

There was a roar from behind them, and they turned to see the great black dragon descending from over the walls. Sycorax landed heavily on the ground and the Dothraki began to cheer, ululating and shouting in their language. Brienne didn’t understand it, but it did embolden her.

The Dragon Queen shouted something in Dothraki and the men raised their curved swords.

“Raise your swords,” she said in the common tongue, and the others joined them. 

Brienne watched as the queen took a dagger from her belt and cut her hand. Her mouth was moving, though Brienne couldn’t hear the words.

Jaime’s steel sword erupted in flame as he held it up, as did the other arming swords and arakhs around them. The courtyard became flooded with the light of the blades. The cheering grew louder, drowning out the sound of the approaching horde.

The black dragon stood up on its hind legs, stretching its wings out over them all. Then it leapt up into the sky, ready to meet the army of the dead.

***

Arya had ridden the dragons before and had seen the destruction they could cause, but there was a great and nearly ineffable sense of awe in seeing the dragon’s power from a distance. She stood on the inner wall, over the North Gate and close to where Jon stood on the outer wall. Arya couldn’t see his face, but she was sure that he had the same gaping stare that she did as they watched Sycorax burn through a wave of wights. The black fire reined down on them, igniting the wights and illuminating the night with the burning corpses.

Bran was out there, too, to help Daenerys find the Others, or avoid them if needed, a fact which made Arya nervous. Meera was with them, and she was as good, if not even better, at archery than Arya. Still, it was discomforting to be separated from her siblings again: Bran on the dragon, the wolves out on the field, Jon leading the outer wall defense, Arya on the inner wall, and Sansa in the Great Keep. She could see Jon, at least, standing with the remaining men from the Night’s Watch.

Jon signalled to the men below and the trebuchets released their first volley.

The battle had begun.

***

Brienne watched as the fiery stone projectiles left the trebuchets and arced over the field, clearing the cavalry and the wooden fence and crashing into the army of wights. The black dragon was even further away, burning the dead, but keeping her distance from the wooden fence.

The cheering had died down and without it, they could hear the snarling and raspy growling of the wights, an inhuman sound full of uncontrolled anger. The second volley from the trebuchets sailed over them.

Then the wights collided with the fence.

There was a loud thump, but the fence held.

“Archers!” Brienne shouted.

The mounted archers galloped forward and raised their bows high.

“Draw and fire!”

A mix of dragonglass and fire arrows hissed from their bows and over the fence. Brienne couldn’t see where they hit, but from the sound of growling behind the fence, the wights stood so thickly together that the arrows would find plenty of targets.

There was another slam against the fence, and the wooden planks shook a little. Brienne tightened her grip on Oathkeeper. Jaime’s burning sword illuminated his face as he glared with determination at the shaking wall. He looked over at her for a moment and gave a small nod.

The first wight climbed over the fence and was shot twice in the head by dragonglass arrows. It fell in a heap beneath the fence and did not rise again.

More began to come. The fence had only been built eight feet high, enough to slow the wights, though most likely not for long. Brienne imagined they were climbing over each other like rats to get up and over the fence. She kicked her horse and charged forward toward them.

***

The wight army came from the north at first, but Arya climbed up atop one of the merlons on the wall, and she could see them spreading around the wooden fence to surround the castle from all sides. The heaviest fighting was in the north, but the cavalry was keeping the wights back as they climbed the fence. Arya watched the flaming swords and arrows flashing across the field. She could also see the three direwolves, illuminated by the torchlight. They were staying together and picking off stray wights, ripping them into pieces, and leaving the parts scattered on the field.

One of the cavalry horns blew, and a group of riders raced around to help cover the western side, where wights were beginning to clear the wall, as well.

***

The wights were slow, and they fell easily beneath Brienne’s and Jaime’s swords, as they rode together around the fence, killing the dead as they came over. The direwolves were snarling as two of them grabbed a wight by the arms, and the third tore into its neck. Qhono was galloping along the fence, as well, in the opposite direction as Brienne and Jaime, beheading wights and setting their bodies on fire with his arakh.

For a brief moment, Brienne felt a glimmer of hope. They were horribly outnumbered by the wights, but the wights were slow and awkward and easy enough to fight. She had already lost count of how many she killed.

Then she heard a scream.

She turned her horse just as a tremendous spider came crawling over the fence and tackled one of the soldiers of the Golden Company. It was larger than a dog, and nearly the size of the direwolves, with white hairs covering its body and many beady black eyes. It sunk its large fangs into the man, who stopped screaming as his body went limp. Then it leapt, at least ten feet forward, and knocked another rider off their horse. Before it could kill that one, however, Obara Sand charged forward and struck her spear through the spider’s eye. The creature screamed and thrashed. It didn’t die quickly the way the wights did when hit with dragonglass. It wasn’t a dead creature, but a living one, a monster from the far north, and under the thrall of the Others.

The fence swayed and Brienne could hear the sound of axes against the wood, as the wights pushed and hacked against it. They were still coming over the top, and soon enough they would be through it.

There was a pause in the swaying of the fence, and then more spiders began to leap and climb over the fence and onto the fields, launching themselves at the cavalry. There were dozens off them. Brienne ran and sliced one along the side of its abdomen, and an acrid yellowish green liquid poured out of the wound. Jaime hit it from the other side, but his fiery blade glanced off the side. Brienne watched Jhogo ride for a different spider and swing his arakh at it, only to have it deflected, as well. It seemed only Valyrian steel was sharp enough to pierce the thick hides of the spiders.

“Hit them in the eyes!” Jaime shouted.

Jhogo ran back around the spider and slashed it across the face, and this time it reared back and fell. The wolves managed to grab one spider and they began to tear the legs off of the creature, until it was nothing more than a twitching and immobile body, oozing the green substance from its wounds. Obara had lost her spear in the eye of the first spider, and another one leapt at her, knocking her horse off its feet, and sending them both to the ground. Brienne ran for her, but she was too late to save Obara. Brienne killed the spider and kept riding.

***

Dany circled to the west, where the wights were beginning to press their attack harder. She glanced behind her and could see Bran with his milky white eyes, watching the Others. His greensight usually was strongest when he was next to a weirwood, but Sycorax gave him enough magic to see without the aid of the trees. Behind him sat Meera, with an arrow knocked and ready to fire.

Bran blinked and his eyes returned to blue.

“They’re together, all eight of them,” he said.

“Where are they?” asked Dany.

“To the north. Behind the army.”

Dany shook her head a little. They couldn’t risk them all together. They would just have to keep killing wights and avoiding the Others.

***

The field behind the wooden fence reeked with the blood of the spiders. Many men, women, and horses of the cavalry lay dead, but all the spiders had at last been killed. In the momentary pause, Brienne looked over the damage, the devastation, around her. 

The trebuchets continued to fire, but the wights kept coming over the top of the fence. They seemed to be getting quicker at it. They were beginning to hack through it, as well, creating holes big enough for them to squeeze through. The wooden planks groaned and began to bow forward. There was the sound of cracking wood.

Brienne called for the retreat.

“Fall back! Behind the trench!” she shouted.

The horns sounded, and the cavalry raced back toward the trench and over the gangplanks. The fence broke and wights began to pour through it. A dead shadowcat raced over the ground and grabbed Jaime’s horse by its back leg. The horse screamed and fell to the ground, and Jaime was thrown from its back. His sword flew out of his hand and its fire was extinguished in the snow. Brienne yanked her own horse around, as Jaime got to his feet. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up behind her. She saw the living direwolves attack the shadowcat wight, but then she turned and raced over the gangplank.

The wights were moving across the field, slower than the horses, but coming onward. Podrick waited for the cavalry and the wolves to get over the trench - as many as he could wait for - and then he pulled back the gangplank. There were two short horn blasts, the signal to light the trench, and Podrick dropped his torch down into the pitch.

The fires blazed up at different points around the trench, as the squires dropped their torches in. The flames spread around and met each other until the castle was encircled by a ring of fire. The wights reached the trench and stopped, waiting at the fire, but not trying to cross it. A few of them raised their bows, but they were shot down quickly enough. The wights were in range of Winterfell’s walls now, and arrows began to rain down on them from the archers on both the inner and outer walls.

“Are you alright?” Brienne asked Jaime.

“I’ll live,” he said. His voice sounded a bit strained, and he took his arm from around her waist to hold his own side, as if it were hurting him. He wasn’t bleeding that she could see, but he could have broken some bones. He would have to wait for any care from the maester, though. As Brienne looked around, she saw far more serious injuries in the cavalry. Even the white direwolf, Ghost, was bleeding from where one of his ears had been torn off. 

Brienne waited for Podrick to mount his horse and then they rode back to the castle. A phalanx of knights of the Vale was waiting outside the North Gate, but they parted to let the cavalry pass back into Winterfell.

***

Jon pulled back an arrow and loosed it at the wights that waited at the trench. On all sides, the wights were breaching the wooden fence and coming to wait at the fiery trench. Jon had decided that the worst thing about a battle was watching the warriors die and being unable to help them. Now, it was almost a relief to be able to take action and fire on the wights. He pulled out another arrow coated in pitch, dipped it through the torch, and then fired it. 

Below him the cavalry and the wolves retreated past the phalanxes at the gates and came into the courtyard of Winterfell. The spiders had been a hard blow for them, but they had delayed the wights considerably. In the distance, Jon could see Sycorax’s black flame pouring over the army of wights to the northwest.

“As long as they don’t have a magic horn that can bring down stone walls,” said Tormund, firing one of his own arrows.

“They might have,” said Edd.

“No such thing,” said Davos, shaking his head.

“How do you know that?” asked Tormund.

“I don’t, but I am telling myself that there isn’t.”

Jon smiled. It was strange to say, but he felt oddly calm during the battle. He supposed that if he had to die again, this was the way he would want to do so. He was slowly beginning to feel human again - beginning to feel again. He had reunited with most of his siblings. He stood with his brothers of the Watch and his friends, defending his home. He could certainly think of worse ways to die.

Viserion stood on the wall near Jon with Irri on his back, saving his energy for when the wights grew closer. He was still weak, but his eyes were clear and alert. He raised his head, and then roared out at the wights. It took Jon a moment to see what the dragon saw, but then the hulking figures came into view.

“Fuck me,” said Edd.

“Fuck us all,” agreed Grenn.

Three wight giants on massive dead mammoths rode through the hole in the fence. Each carried a huge metal shield over their head, protecting themselves from the arrow fire. They were dragging something behind them, which Jon realized was another mammoth, though this one was an unmoving corpse, rather than a wight.

“Aim for the mammoths!” Jon shouted.

They began to fire at the beasts, but the human wights leapt up onto the beasts, covering them like a shield of corpses. The mammoths reached the trench and the giants dismounted. They grabbed the fourth mammoth and dragged it forward. There was something oddly stiff about it as they pulled it.

“It’s frozen,” said Davos quietly.

The giants lifted the mammoth and threw it across the trench. The fire beneath it went out and the flames beside it did not catch the frozen body on fire. They had created a bridge over the burning trench.

The giants stood aside and the human wights surged across the mammoth’s body. They split up, with some running for the North Gate and the rest going around to the east and west.

“Brace yourselves!” shouted Harry Hardyng from below. He stood with the phalanx of knights in front of the gate. 

The wights reached the spikes and several were impaled against them. The rest were bottlenecked into a small corridor as they approached the North Gate. Viserion roared again and then blew fire at the wights. Jon flinched away from the wave of heat from the burst of flame. It streamed down like pale molten gold on the wights. The dragon could only reach them as they approached the spikes, however, and almost caught the spikes themselves on fire. Irri reached her hand out to touch Viserion’s neck, and he stopped his flame. The wights ran forward and collided with the spears and shields of the phalanx.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued


	46. The Battle of Winterfell, Pt. 2

The gates were still open for the phalanxes to retreat and through them, Jorah could hear the wights collide with the soldiers. He could see the arrows falling from the outer wall, straight down onto the wights. The phalanx at the North Gate held and were even able to push the wights forward with their shields and then back up and stab them. The wights growled and snarled, but they couldn’t break through the wall of shields and obsidian spears.

“I can’t see. Can you see what’s happening?” asked Alysane, standing up in her stirrups. 

She was built like the rest of the Mormonts, strong and broad in the shoulders, but she was about a head shorter than her mother and Jorah. Asha was the opposite, tall and wiry, so she, too, stood in her stirrups to describe what she could see of the phalanx battle.

“One’s managed to climb on top, but the knights farther back stabbed him before he could do anything. I can’t see anything else,” said Asha.

“Why I had to get grandpa’s short legs,” grumbled Alysane.

“We should have put you on the wall,” said Jorah.

She shook her head. “I’m better with a blade than a bow.” She held up her obsidian spear and gave it a tap.

The growling outside grew a little louder, but the phalanx was not moved.

From above them, they heard Viserion scream. Jorah looked up and he saw a dark figure pass overhead, one of the wight rocs. It dropped something down onto the courtyard, several somethings, actually. The dropped things fell, landing on and killing a few of the warriors, and then they stood back up. A second roc flew over and did the same, dropping several wights down on top of them. The wights lunged forward, ripping and stabbing at the warriors and were cut down quickly enough, but they were managing to kill a few people.

The rocs came again and this time they dropped wight shadowcats and direwolves, as well as humans. One of the direwolves fell near Asha, but she threw one of her axes into its skull before it could attack. The other shadowcat was much more successful, and managed to kill three people before it, too, was brought down.

***

Irri watched the rocs, dropping the wights down on the people in Winterfell, carrying as many as they could at a time. Viserion roared at them and stood higher on his good leg.

“Ready?” she asked him.

Viserion leapt up and flew out over the walls, just as one of the rocs was about to fly across courtyard. The roc tried to veer, but Viserion burned it and all the wights it carried, and sent it plummeted down onto the field.

The other wight roc turned to fly east, but Viserion pursued it. Irri could feel him shaking a little from the strain, but the dragon was focused on the roc, not on his own pain. He pulled himself forward through the air, moving faster and faster, until he caught up with the roc. He opened his mouth and unleashed a stream of fire hotter than Irri had ever felt from him. 

There was little left of the roc other than ash and dust, which scattered away like snow. 

Viserion lurched and dropped down a few feet, and Irri urged him back toward Winterfell.

***

As soon as Viserion and Irri flew after the final roc, the wight giants made their move. The trench was burning low and the mammoth bridge was holding. They ran forward, covering the ground so much faster than the human wights were able to. They still had their shields, so even as the archers fired at them, they continued forward unharmed. Jon aimed at any exposed part of them, at their hands and legs, but they were covered in thick leather, and the few arrows that landed could not pierce it. The giants reached the spikes and one of them used its shield to smash the spikes out of the way.

The phalanx broke and ran back toward Winterfell, but the giants were quicker. Jon felt a bit sick as he watched the giants pick up the spikes and use them as clubs and spears against the knights of the Vale, stomping and breaking their way through the retreating soldiers. Jon saw Harry Hardyng fall beneath one of the giants and Jon shut his eyes for a moment. Harry had not been Jon’s favorite person, but he was Sansa’s husband. Jon looked up at the inner wall for a moment, where Arya was still firing arrows out at the wights. He doubted she had been able to see Harry’s death from where she stood.

Below, Jon could hear the outer gates being closed, and he could hear the screams of the knights who had not made it into the walls in time. A few seconds later the drawbridge was raised and the inner gates closed and locked, as well. Around the castle, at the other three gates, he could hear the calls for retreat.

***

Stalwart Shield and his Unsullied shoved the wights from their shields and then stabbed them with their spears. The next wave of wights came, and they did the same. With the spikes around them and the archers up on the walls, the attack of the wights was easy enough to control. The wights were mindless and stupid, and the phalanx had not yet lost a single man. Stalwart Shield was pleasantly surprised by that. He never doubted the ability of the Unsullied, but they also had several other soldiers around them, mostly Northerners. He knew some of them from the cavalry attacks, and he knew they were capable riders, but a successful phalanx required discipline and unison. They were working well together, though, holding back the steady barrage.

A group of wights moved forward, as fast as a wight could move, and they slammed into the shields. Stalwart Shield had caught one on his spear, which he quickly lowered, so the body slid off. He then raised spear again and stabbed forward at the wights.

They heard a growling sound, though not the same as the raspy snarl of the wights. Then, Stalwart saw it, a tremendous bear, rotting and covered in dirty white fur and running right for them.

“Brace!” he shouted, and he felt the men behind him press against their shields.

The bear plunged into the phalanx just to the left of Stalwart and broke the front lines. The human wights jumped forward and began to slash at the soldiers with their swords. The bear was stabbed several times with spears and collapsed down.

“Reform the lines!” shouted Stalwart.

The men from the back pushed forward, forcing the wights backward and taking the places of those who had fallen.

Behind him, Stalwart heard the call for retreat.

***

From atop the inner walls, Arya could see the inside of the outer wall doors. They were made of wood nearly six inches thick, and held shut by cold rolled steel bars and locks. It would take hours for regular soldiers to break through such a gate with battering rams, but giants were far from ordinary. She heard a slam against the wood and saw the doors rattle. Below them on the outer walls, the men had gathered over the gate and were shooting down through the machicolations at the giants below. Others leaned out over the crenels and threw their spears. Arya couldn’t see the giants themselves behind the outer wall, but from the persistent sound of battering and slamming against the gates, she assumed they had not been brought down.

Irri and Viserion returned, though he was listing hard to one side. He began to breath fire on the wights, but stopped as he neared the walls. The dragons had reached such a size and power that there was a risk of their fire being so hot it could crack the stone walls of Winterfell. Instead of burning the giants, Viserion returned to the walls, and breathed a short burst of fire out at the wights, keeping his flame directed away from the wall itself. He stopped and Arya watched his chest expand and then heavily contract. He was growing too tired to continue his fire breathing.

There was a tremendous blow against the doors and the steel bars rattled. Two more blows and the wood began to crack.

“Get ready!” Arya shouted.

The spearmen around her raised their spears and the archers knocked their arrows. The gates splintered open under the force of the giants’ blows. Arya saw two of the wight giants step into the archway in the inner wall, shields held in front of them.

“Hold!” said Arya.

The giants couldn’t cross the moat without stepping on the dragonglass spikes. They reached behind them and then flung out the body of their dead companion across. It seemed that the outer wall had managed to bring one of the giants down, but the other two were then able to use him as a bridge, as they had done with the frozen mammoth carcass.

The first giant stepped onto the corpse bridge.

“Fire!” Arya shouted.

She released her own arrow, while around her many others were loosed. The giants raised their shields and caught the arrows against the leather-covered metal. Aggo managed to land an arrow on one of the giants shoulders, but both giants wore leather armor too thick to penetrate. One of the spearmen aimed for the same spot, but missed the strike.

The giants crossed the moat and reached the drawbridge. Up so close against the wall and with their shields over them, there was no clear shot of them. Arya told the others to hold again, needing to save their arrows.

There was a groaning sound as the giants began to pull down the drawbridge. Arya leaned out over the wall and watched as the chains snapped and the bridge fell heavily into place. 

Arya ran to the other side of the wall to look over on the courtyard, at the armies that waited at the gate and the godswood just beyond them. The giants slammed into the steel bars of the inner wall gate and shattered their way through it, crashing into the army that awaited. The rest of the wights ran forward across the drawbridge. Many of them were shot down by arrows or burnt by Viserion during one of his brief fire bursts, but many more made it through. Arya felt cold as she drew an arrow and shot down one of the wights. They had broken through. They were in Winterfell now.

As she fired her arrows, she watched the brutal fighting below. From the corner of her eye she saw a hulking shape run forward. Wun Wun ran forward out of the godswood, holding an enormous spear, topped with a shard of dragonglass that was as big as Arya’s torso. Wun Wun slammed aside the human wights and stomped on a few, as well. As large and lumbering as he could be, he was far more agile than the wight giants. He ran for one, knocking its shield away and then plunging his spear into its chest. The wight giant collapsed onto its knees and fell forward, crushing a few other wights on its way down. Wun Wun turned and began to sweep his spear along the ground, knocking away many of the wights as they tried to enter through the archway. Several wights began to climb up his back but Alleras and Aggo climbed up onto the crenels of the wall and began to shoot them off of the giant.

Arya turned to look back at the field outside of Winterfell. She saw movement skittering along the ground as nearly a hundred of the ice spiders travelled toward the castle. Behind them, she saw a group of wights, marching in formation, and among them, eight riders.

“Nymeria!” Arya shouted. Nymeria Sand loosed an arrow down at the drawbridge and turned to Arya.

“Take command of the wall,” said Arya.

Nymeria nodded, and shouted at the soldiers to keep firing arrows and to save their spears for the spiders. Arya went to the steps and ran down toward the courtyard, drawing Widow’s Wail as she went.

***

Dany saw the march of the Others toward the castle, and Sycorax halted her fire breathing and hovered high above them all.

“It’s too dangerous,” said Bran. 

“Meera, be ready,” said Dany.

She looked back at Bran’s pale, scared face and Meera’s determined one. Meera took an obsidian arrow from her quiver and Dany held out her hand for it. Meera handed it over and Dany cut her left palm once again and said a few words. She handed the arrow back to Meera, who knocked it on her bowstring.

Sycorax turned and hurtled downward as fast as she could, making the cold air scream around them. Dany watched as the Others pulled back their spears. She pulled up Sycorax and Meera released her arrow. Dany didn’t have time to see if it hit its target, if her honing spell had worked, because Sycorax rolled violently out of the way as the Other’s spears were hurled toward her. One of them scraped the side of the dragon’s leg, causing a shallow cut, and one whistled by Dany’s ear. Sycorax flew away as fast as she could.

“Did we hit one?” Dany asked, looking back at Bran.

His eyes turned white for a moment as he warged a crow and then he nodded.

“She hit one,” he said, then “They’ll hit us next time you try that.” He still looked a bit peaky.

Dany looked back at the Others, but Sycorax seemed determined to fly away from them. Instead, they flew back over the endless army of wights.

***

The fighting was heavy in the courtyard when Arya reached it. The archers on the walls continued firing on the wights as they tried to enter Winterfell, but they could no longer shoot into Winterfell, for fear of hitting their own soldiers. Arya emerged from the inner wall and was instantly attacked by wights. She slashed at them and killed them with Widow’s Wail. A horse and rider charged past her, nearly knocking into her, as the knight slammed into a group of wights. A wildling woman with an axe beheaded a wight next to Arya and a spray of congealed black blood splattered over Arya’s face. She wiped at her eyes, trying to clear them, and stabbed out almost blindly at a snarling wight. She blinked hard, clearing her vision, and ran out of the way of a group of infantry with spears.

There were screams and other terrible sounds of people dying. Arya slashed at one wight and then another. She reached the prone body of the wight giant that Wun Wun had killed and climbed over it. A group of about eight wights charged at Arya and she turned and ran into the dark godswood.

For a moment, it was as if all sounds of the battle went silent, and all Arya could hear was the blood pulsing in her ears and the sound of a ragged breathing, which she realized was her own. She ran through the trees and then the battle sounds came back and she could hear the rasping of the wights running after her. Arya knew the godswood well - she had spent her childhood running through it - but now in her fear, she found herself lost. The snarling grew louder and then a wight darted out of the trees and tackled her to the ground.

She shrieked as it tried to bite and claw at her face. The thing smelled dead and cold and it scratched a deep cut into her arm. She screamed again. 

Then something collided with the wight, and knocked it off of her. Arya sat up and grabbed her sword as Nymeria tore the wight apart. Arya got to her feet and walked over to put her hand on Nymeria’s shoulder. She saw a flash of white and grey as Summer and Ghost ran through the woods, killing the wights that had followed Arya into it. Nymeria began to trot forward and Arya followed her to the heart tree.

The two Children of the Forest sat at the base of the tree, chanting softly to it. A wineskin lay on the ground before them and they took turns reaching into it and pulling out a red powder, which they placed against the carved mouth on the tree’s trunk. Little Spear lifted the wineskin and shook out the last of the powder to give to the tree. They stopped chanting and looked up at Arya.

The air had been still since the battle began, but when the Children halted whatever they were doing, a cold wind blew in over the walls, howling and screaming with an increasing volume. The Children looked nervous and they made a chittering sound to each other. Brighteye held out their hand for Arya, and she walked over and took it.

***

“They’re in Winterfell,” said Bran. He reached a hand out and touched Dany’s arm and she felt a lurch as he pulled her into his visions.

The Others were slaughtering their way through the courtyard as the living began to retreat to the keeps. Not all of them pulled back, however. She saw Jorah, still on his horse and with a group of mounted knights around him. They raised their spears and swords and charged at the wights that surrounded the Others. Most were caught fighting the wights, but Ser Jorah’s horse made it past them before it was shot in the neck by an arrow. The horse screamed and reared and Jorah fell at the feet of the Others’ horses. He rose, holding Dark Sister, and slashed off the front legs of the nearest wight horse. The Other fell, but quickly rolled to his feet. His own sword was crystalline and shining. He struck at Jorah, but Jorah caught the blow. He parried another and another, and then found and opening an slashed the Other across the stomach. It cracked like ice at the wound and fell to the ground. 

A blade of ice pierced Jorah through the back as a different Other stabbed him. Dany felt it as if the sword had gone through her, as well.

She saw other images through Bran’s greensight. She saw a dead giant attacking the Great Keep, where the injured and those who could not fight were staying. It punched its tremendous fist through the window, shattering the glass and stone. She saw Jon Snow fighting in the courtyard, trying to defend the retreat of the soldiers. He was covered in blood and slashing desperately with his sword. The wind screamed and the snow and hail fell hard upon them.

Bran let go and Dany sucked in a painful breath of air.

Winterfell was falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to throw in a little tribute to the Battle of Helm's Deep.  
> Next up - the battle's end.


	47. The Battle's End

The direwolves howled as more of the wights broke into the godswood and came running toward the heart tree. Arya readied herself for the fight. Through the howling sky, however, two large figures descended, one pale and one black. White and black fire erupted from them as Viserion and Sycorax both burned the wights - and many of the trees in the godswood along with them. Only two wights escaped the blaze, but Arya killed one and the wolves ripped apart the other. The dragons landing beside the heart tree, and Sycorax lowered herself so Daenerys could climb off. Sycorax looked at Bran and Meera, now alone on her back, and made a snarling sound until Dany said something to quiet her.

Arya walked over and looked at Bran. He was unharmed, though he had a strange expression on his face. Dany went over to the heart tree. She took one of the Children’s spears and slashed her palm, pressing it against the carved face. The Children reached out and touched her. Dany spoke in a strange guttural language and the Children spoke in their pretty melodious way.

The howling of the wind stopped, as did the snow. Arya looked up and saw the faintest tinge of yellow light begin to spread across the sky. It was the first light of morning.

She looked back up at Bran, who tilted his head, as if not sure what to make of Arya.

“Wolf child. Blood child,” he said. 

Arya had heard those words before. The Ghost of High Heart had called Arya those things.

“Who better to kill the dead?” asked Bran.

Arya turned and ran over to one of the fallen wights. She pulled out her dagger and started cutting along its jawline.

***

Jon slashed through a wight with Longclaw, and then another. The dead army had spread all the way from the North Gate to the South across the courtyard, though the living soldiers were still fighting hard against them. Jon had briefly seen the dragons descend into the godswood, but they couldn’t kill the wights in the courtyard without burning all of their own soldiers, as well. The skies were clearing and the wind had stopped, which made it easier to hear the snarls and hisses of the wights around him.

A wight lunged at Jon, but he sidestepped and cut it in two. He looked up and he saw one of the Others about twenty feet away from him. She was tall and oddly captivating, with white hair and shimmering armor. Her eyes were fixed on Jon and she made her way over, away from her companions. Jon ran forward toward her, cutting down two wights as he went. He stabbed at her, but she knocked Longclaw away with her own sword. Jon slashed at her head, but she parried, and then tried a blow at Jon’s stomach. He blocked it, but only barely. She was quick with her sword, inhumanly so. Jon squeezed Longclaw and then attacked, slashing, dodging, and parrying with every ounce of energy left in his limbs. He landed a blow to her thigh, cutting through her armor, and she fell to one knee. Jon beheaded the Other without hesitation.

Her companions screamed in rage and a group of wights charged at Jon. Several Unsullied soldiers ran forward and stabbed at the wights with their spears, keeping them away from Jon. 

One of the Others dismounted his dead horse and drew his sword. There was something different about him, something that felt older and colder than the rest of them. Bran had described his visions of the Others to Jon, and from what he had said, this one was the First. He had been the first of the humans that the Children had tied to the weirwood and changed forever.

The First Other approached and Jon raised Longclaw.

***

The last remaining dead giant slammed his fist through the wall of the Great Keep and grabbed an archer who had been waiting at a nearby window. The giant ripped the man into two pieces and then reached in for more. Jeyne Poole screamed and clutched tightly to Sansa’s arm. Theon grabbed a piece of the rubble and hurled it at the giant. The giant pulled back his hand for a moment and then slammed his shield against the wall, shaking the entire keep.

Sansa pressed herself against one of the inner walls of the keep, as the giant ripped the fortress apart piece by piece. Jeyne was trembling so hard that she was shaking Sansa’s body, as well. Sansa looked over on her other side, where Tyrion and Shae were sitting. Shae had her eyes closed, but Tyrion looked up at Sansa. He was terrified, and sad, and oddly resigned.

The giant slammed into the wall again and then punched its gloved hand through another window. It grabbed the stone edge, and with a tremendous yank, it pulled off a large piece of the wall.

Sansa closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She opened her eyes and then pried Jeyne’s tight grip from her arm. She walked forward, her chest feeling tight as she approached the broken window. She took the Valyrian steel dagger from her belt as she walked. Behind her, she heard Tyrion shout something, but she kept moving.

The giant reached into the window again to rip off another piece of the wall. Sansa ran forward and stabbed her dagger down on his hand. The giant flinched, and for a moment, she thought that it had worked. Then he withdrew his hand, only to send it back and grab her tightly around the waist. The dagger hadn’t been long enough to pierce all the way through his glove. He brought Sansa up to his rotting face and squeezed her so hard that her vision went dizzy and her ribcage ached and cracked. Through her blurring sight, she saw his eye as he tried to get a better look at her. His face was the only part of him not covered by the thick leather, she realized. Sansa could still feel the dragonbone handle of the dagger in her hand. She thrust it forward aiming for the eye and she felt the blade connect. The giant swayed and began to fall, with Sansa still caught in its grasp.

Before she hit the ground, however, something caught her. Or caught the falling giant. Sansa felt the fingers being pried off of her and then she was lifted up by yet another giant, though this was warm and living. Wun Wun picked her up with one arm as gently as he could. Above him, Sansa could see the sky, no longer black, but turning pale grey and even gold at the edges. Her sides ached and her vision swam. She closed her eyes.

***

The First Other walked slowly for Jon, his blue eyes burning like chips of ice. He raised his sword and brought it down hard toward Jon’s head. Jon blocked it with Longclaw, but the force of the blow was so great that Jon was knocked to the ground. Jon looked up as the First Other raised his sword to strike.

From the east, the sun made it over the tops of the walls, throwing out a golden light onto the courtyard. The First Other flinched away from the light, shielding his eyes. Jon rolled to his feet, but the First recovered, as well. He rained down blows on Jon, but Jon managed to keep his feet. Jon retreated from the First, not able to make any attacks of his own, but parrying the First’s strikes. 

A wight approached from behind the First, lumbering in the slow and awkward way that wights often did. In its hand, it carried a sword with a red blade. A Valyrian steel sword.

Jon blocked a blow from the First with his own sword and shoved him backward. Then the lumbering wight plunged its red sword into the First’s back, piercing through his chest, and coming out through his sternum. The First Other’s eyes widened for a moment, but then his chest shattered like broken ice and he collapsed forward.

The wight reached up and pulled its face off, revealing Arya beneath it. She smiled at Jon and then turned toward the remaining Others with him. There were four of them left.

An arrow hissed down from the sky and struck one of the Others through the eye. He fell from his horse. Jon looked up and saw Sycorax sitting on the wall of the godswood. Dany had a bow in her hand, and she drew another arrow, pointing it at one of the Others. Sycorax roared. A group of knights and other soldiers rode through the wights, surrounding the three remaining Others and lowering their spears at them.

The Others dropped their spears and swords. They raised their empty hands up to the sky and then lowered them. All around the courtyard, the wights collapsed to the ground and the ice spiders ran out of the castle. The Others got off of their dead horses, which then, too, crumbled down, truly dead. 

Sycorax jumped from the wall and landed beside the Others. Dany climbed down from the dragon, and she, Arya, and Jon went over to the Others.

“What are we going to do with them, then?” asked Arya.

One of the Others spoke in a voice that sounded like cracking ice and a language that sounded like a horrible version of the True Tongue that the Children spoke.

“If we let them go, they’ll return to their sacred site, and in a few hundred years people will have to fight them again,” said Jon.

Dany was looking carefully at the Others, and they looked from her to Sycorax.

“Lock them away for now, in chains of iron. Bind them tight enough that they cannot move and gag them,” she said.

Several soldiers stepped forward, keeping their spears pointed at the Others as they led them away.

Viserion flew down and landed next to Sycorax. He looked a little shaky after the battle, but then again, they all did. Jon felt like he could lay down in the snow and sleep forever if he didn’t force himself to keep standing. Even Sycorax was beginning to droop a little, though she was also sniffing hungrily at one of the dead horses in the courtyard.

They didn’t have time to rest, though. There were wounded to care for, and loved ones to find. Jon put his arm around Arya and she hugged him back. They needed to find Bran and Sansa, and later they would have to send for Rickon on Skagos. 

Jon stopped himself and looked around the courtyard. It was strewn with bodies, mostly the fallen wights, but many of their own soldiers, too. It had been a devastating battle against an impossible enemy, but somehow, against the odds, they had lived. They had won. Jon looked around at the soldiers who still stood, at the Unsullied and Dothraki, the sellswords and the knights, the wildlings and northern villagers who were not truly warriors, but who fought anyway. Then he looked at Daenerys, who had brought them all to Winterfell. If he were more of a poet, Jon might even write a song about it all - about the Dragon Queen, a queen with no home and many, with no people and many, with no kingdom and many.

“Let’s go find Sansa,” said Arya, and she pulled Jon back toward the Great Keep.

***

Dany hugged Irri tightly to her in the middle of the freezing courtyard. Even with the clear skies and rising sun, it was still winter in the North, and it was still very cold.

“I never want to see snow or ice again,” said Irri.

Dany rubbed her back and couldn’t help but to agree. 

“I have one more promise to keep, but then we’ll go back to Essos,” said Dany.

Irri nodded against her. 

“I made a mistake,” said Irri.

Dany pulled back a little, frowning at her.

“During the battle,” Irri continued, “I should never have left the walls, but I chased the roc and because of this, the giants were able to reach the gates. I should have stayed.”

Dany rubbed her back, trying to think of the right thing to say.

“It’s so easy to know what to do after everything is done. We won today. It was a hard, bloody victory, but we lived through it.”

“Not everyone, perhaps not even most,” said Irri, looking around.

“No. Ser Jorah is dead.” Dany felt numb as she said it. She would probably fall down and cry later, but for now she just felt cold and drained of all emotion. She didn’t even know where his body was. She didn’t think she could face it right now, though she knew she would have to eventually.

Irri pressed her face against Dany, as if she didn’t want to look at the devastation around them any longer. Dany closed her eyes, as well.

They were victorious, but it seemed that victories were very different from how they were shown in the stories and songs. Dany didn’t feel heroic or proud or glorious. The Others had been human once, until the oily black stone had so twisted and corrupted them that all that was left were the nearly unstoppable conquerers. It was extraordinary, in a way, how many lives had been ripped apart by the Others.

***

The number and size of the funeral pyres was sobering, to say the very least. They had broken apart the remnants of the wooden fence in order to construct the pyres and then had laid out the bodies over them. Some of the former wights were so decayed that Dany could not make out any of their features, but they had been people once. They had been farmers, hunters, craftspeople. Some had been wildlings, some Northerners. They had died forgotten, with few left to mourn them.

But there were plenty of familiar faces upon the pyres, as well.

Qhono, who had been a ko of Irri’s khalasar, had been killed after the retreat into Winterfell, overwhelmed by a barrage of wights. The remainder of the khalasar had gathered what dead horses and treasures they could find from the battlefield and had presented them to Qhono and the other fallen Dothraki. Dany’s bloodriders had all survived, though Rakharo was still weak from his broken shoulder, and leaned heavily on Jhiqui as they watched the preparations. Irri cried quietly to herself and kissed Qhono once on the forehead before the pyres were lit.

Stalwart Shield stood before his remaining men, saying a prayer to the goddess of the Unsullied, the Lady of Spears, for the twenty six of his soldiers who had fallen in the battle.

Sansa Stark was still unconscious, being tended to by the maester, but her husband was dead and laid out in his armor, which had been cracked and crushed by the wight giants. Jon, Arya, and Bran all looked solemn and worried for the fate of their sister and for the sad news they would have to give her when she awoke. Beside the three siblings stood their wolves, a little beaten and battered, but still standing. Ghost had lost an ear and Nymeria had a nasty scratch over her snout, but they had survived.

Jaime Lannister had taken a bad fall from his horse, but had still insisted on attending the mass funeral. Ser Brienne of Tarth and her squire, Podrick, both stood on either side of him, propping him up. Beside them stood Tyrion and Shae, who had spent the battle in the Great Keep with Sansa, and who were there when the dead giant had attacked them all. 

Two of the Sandsnakes had been killed, Obara and Tyene. Their siblings, Alleras and Nymeria Sand, and their cousin, Arianne, stood beside the bodies, crying and holding each other. Near them, Aegon Targaryen looked lost and alone as he watched the lifeless body of Jon Connington being laid out upon the pyre. Dickon Tarly stood with a Valyrian steel longsword on his back, saying goodbye to his fallen father, Lord Randyll.

The ground shook a little beneath Dany’s feet and she looked up to see Wun Wun the giant carrying the two Children of the Forest on his shoulders. The three wight giants had already been laid out on the pyres of the dead, along with their half rotten mammoths. Wun Wun could very well be the last living giant in Westeros. It could be hard to read his expressions behind his hairy face, so Dany wasn’t sure whether he was aware of that. He seemed to take some comfort in the Children at least, who were also old and alone, the last of their kind. Little Spear was watching Dany with their vivid green eyes and then looked out at the pyres. Brighteye trembled a little and Little Spear climbed over to hold them.

Dany turned away from them. She forced her feet forward to the place where Jorah’s body had been laid. Once she reached the spot, it took her a few more moments to actually face the body. She took a deep breath. He had been laid out, still in his armor, though she could see the bloody tear in his breastplate where the Other had stabbed through it. His face looked strange, sort of slack and pale, and his eyes were vacant. Dany reached out and gently pulled down his eyelids over them. She took his cold hand in hers and felt her knees give out from under her.

Vaguely, Dany heard Jon Snow giving a speech to the survivors about all those who had died for them. She had trouble comprehending it all, to occupied by her own feelings, but she thought it was probably a good one.

“We shall never see their like again,” Jon finished.

Dany stood and someone came over to hand her a torch, which she lowered and held against the tinder around Jorah. The wood caught on fire and began to crackle, and Dany backed away from the growing heat. The rest of the torchbearers lit the other pyres, and soon smoke and flames filled the field in front of Winterfell. Dany went over to Irri, took her hand, and watched as the fires burnt away the dead.

“May they ride forever,” said Irri.


	48. The Living

What was there to do after surviving a near apocalyptic battle, except to get roaring drunk?

Collectively, they had lost so many loved ones. They had lost friends and allies, mothers and fathers, siblings and lovers. It had been a tragedy, a devastation. But the truth was that in spite of all the seemingly insurmountable odds that they had to face and the seemingly unstoppable enemy, they had lived. They had survived it. There was a pervasive sadness that permeated the castle, but there was joy, as well. It was a manic sort of joy, but a joy nonetheless. And so, after the funeral pyres had burned down low, the wine was brought out, and they all began to drink. And drink.

There was a happy moment at the start of the evening, when Sansa woke up and spoke to them for a brief time. Her ribs had been cracked and she had hit her head on some rubble, but she had sat up in the bed and spoken to Dany and her siblings. Dany had kissed Sansa on the cheek and then left the Stark siblings to speak in private.

The rest of night passed in a bit of a blur to Dany, coming to her in brief flashes:

Dany made her way from Sansa’s chambers back to the Great Hall and found herself sitting at a table with the Lannisters, Shae, Brienne, and Podrick.

“Is Lady Sansa alright?” Podrick asked.

“She will be, I think,” said Dany. “You should sing her one of your songs when she’s feeling better.”

Podrick blushed a little at that, but Brienne clapped him on the back.

“Let’s play a game,” said Tyrion, pounding his flagon of ale on the table, and spilling a considerable amount on the table.

They spent the better part of an hour and the better part of two large bottles of ale playing Tyrion’s silly guessing game, until Podrick fell asleep on his plate, completely drunk, and Brienne took Jaime away to “tend to his wounds.” 

Later, Dany found herself sitting with Irri’s arms around her, trying to convince Stalwart Shield to talk to a wildling girl. 

“They do not want eunuchs,” he said, trying not to stare at the girl.

“Who doesn’t? I know plenty of girls - well, I know one - who loves a eunuch,” said Dany, thinking of Missandei and Grey Worm. She missed them more than she could say.

“What is the worst thing that will happen if you go talk to her?” asked Irri.

Stalwart shook his head.

Dany’s own head felt a little heavy and giddy. She whistled to get the girl’s attention and waved her over.

“I’ve met you once before, but remind me of your name,” said Dany.

“It’s Ridha,” she said. She was small and mousy-haired, and fierce with a bow, from what little Dany had seen.

“Ridha, will you sit and have a drink with us?”

The woman nodded and joined their table. Soon after, Dany and Irri excused themselves and left Stalwart with Ridha. He gave them a betrayed look as they left him alone with the girl, but Ridha continued talking to him and touching his arm, so Dany imagined he would soon forgive them.

Dany spent several points of the night kissing Irri in what few quiet hallways and alcoves they could find, though many other couples had the same idea, so quiet spots were difficult enough to come by. 

She toasted with her bloodriders and Jhiqui, and watched the drinking contest between them. Aggo won, but Jhiqui was a close second place. Jhogo staggered outside to clear his stomach.

At one point, Dany walked past Bran and Meera, who sat together in front of the fireplace, and Arya and Gendry, who were playing a game with a silver coin, and then Dany found herself lifted onto the shoulders of Tormund and another wildling man. She looked over and saw the same had been done to Irri. 

“To the Dragon Queens!” bellowed Tormund, his voice booming out across the Great Hall. “What kind of person would climb on a fucking dragon? A mad woman or a queen! And we got two of them.”

The hall filled with the sound of cheering and banging of tankards on tables.

Tormund set Dany up on the top of the table at the head of the hall, and Irri was set beside her. Dany felt a new pint of ale or wine pressed into her hand and she put her arm around Irri.

“It took two continents, six species, and I’ve lost count of how many armies to bring down the armies of the dead. Here’s to all who killed an Other, killed a wight, built the defenses, made the weapons, and kept us fed. Here’s to the living,” said Dany, raising her mug.

***

Dany awoke, feeling - if it were possible - even worse than she had the morning after Khal Drogo’s wedding. Her body ached, her head throbbed, and her stomach was like a twisted mess inside of her. And yet, in spite of it, she smiled. She could feel Irri’s deep even breathing beside her, feel the warmth of their bed. They were both still here. Still alive.

The fire was burning strong in the hearth and Dany thought someone must have come in and added wood to it during the night. She knew that she certainly hadn’t. The room felt stuffy and hot to her, and she needed to breathe.

Gingerly, Dany rose from the bed, waking Irri as she went.

“Are you ok?”

“I need some air,” said Dany.

Irri made a little mumbling noise and Dany suspected that she was already asleep again.

Dany made her way through the Keep, past the many people who were passed out in the hallways and the courtyard. It was still a mess of destruction, full of blood, viscera, and rubble, though the bodies had all been cleared away. The sight turned Dany’s stomach. She needed to look at something else. She walked down to the South Gate and began to climb the steps of the inner wall, leaning heavily on the rock side of it as she went. There were few people awake so early in the morning, but she found the top of the Wall was not empty, as she thought it would be. Jon Snow and his wolf, Ghost, sat atop it, looking out at the icy and relatively undamaged fields to the south.

“Alright?” he asked her when she joined him.

She nodded. “I just needed to see something that wasn’t covered in blood.”

There was quite a bit of blood, even to the south, but she focused beyond that, at the farmland and forests in the distance.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jon said.

“It is.” Dany was quiet for a moment. “The North has been hit hard by this war, harder than any other kingdom.”

“And I doubt we’ll be getting any aid from Cersei.”

“Unlikely.”

“We’ll survive. We were built to survive here.”

“Cersei owes you so much, not that she will ever know that.”

Jon smiled, still focused on the lands to the south. Then he frowned.

“I think I might be sick,” he said.

He stood, leaning out over the crenel, and began to throw up the contents of his stomach. Hearing the sound did Dany in, as well, and she found her own crenel and puked out over the moat. When she had nothing left, she turned, leaning her back against the battlements, and slid down to the floor. Jon did the same beside her.

“I got a letter this morning,” he said. He took a piece of parchment out of his coat and handed it to Dany. “It’s from my friend Sam. He’s been in Oldtown, researching the Others.”

“I’m too sick to read,” Dany said, handing it back.

Jon unrolled it and began to read aloud.

“ _ Dear Jon, we have had word from Oldtown that you and Stannis have reclaimed Winterfell for the Starks. I desperately hope that is true and hope that this message finds you and you alone. I have discovered a great deal concerning the Others during my time here. _ ”

Jon interjected in his reading and said, “And he goes on to describe many of the things we already know about the Others and the wights. Would’ve been useful a few weeks ago, though.”

Dany chuckled at that.

“ _ The origins and weaknesses of the Others are not all that I have found, however. It was Gilly, actually, who was reading the diaries of Maester Maynard. This Maester claims to have performed an annulment, ending the marriage of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. He then remarried Rhaegar to your aunt, Lyanna Stark. The record ends there, but I have a suspicion that there may have been a child produced by this second marriage, and that this child would be incredibly vulnerable. He would need to be hidden, given a new name, and kept safe, perhaps by a near relative. _ ”

“He goes on for a bit like that. It isn’t very subtle,” said Jon, rolling up the letter again.

“Promise me, Ned,” said Dany.

“What?”

“Just something that I heard.” She shook her head. “So, this would make you my nephew. My real nephew and a trueborn Targaryen.”

“I suppose.”

Jon was quiet for a while. Then he began to rip the letter into pieces. Standing, he tossed them out into the moat.

“I’d rather be a Stark, I think. I’m more suited for it. Or at least a Snow.”

Dany smiled.

“Jon Stark, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. It sounds like you,” she said.

Jon looked out at the farmlands again.

“If only,” he said. Then, “What now?”

“Let’s finish recovering from last night before we think about what happens next.”

***

Eventually, though, they did have to look to the future, and it was a messy undertaking to say the least. During the battle, the various armies and factions had had a common purpose, a unity, but without it they began to splinter and quarrel. And there were plenty of things for them to argue over: Aegon’s right to the throne, Winterfell’s dwindling food supplies, and perhaps the most important and contentious issue of all, what to do with the Others.

Three there were, one man, two women, and all bound, gagged, and shoved into a locked and heavily guarded room. It was a temporary solution at best, and they needed to come to a more permanent decision.

Most of the soldiers wanted to execute them with all haste. Bran argued against it.

“They surrendered. They’re intelligent beings. We might be able to reason with them, treaty with them,” he said at one council meeting.

“Look at the devastation they caused us!” roared the Greatjon Umber, whose home had been captured by the Others and most of his family killed. 

“Leave one wolf alive and the sheep are never safe,” said Arya, under her breath.

Dany, who was seated next to her, nodded. She said little herself during the meeting, though many turned to her for advice. She had no visions of what would happen in the Others were left alive, though, and no knowledge of what would come of it all. The northerners knew the Others the best, so she left it to them to decide.

They sided with the Greatjon in the end. Sansa called for a vote from all the remaining great houses and they chose to execute the last of the Others. There was little ceremony to the execution. The Others couldn’t be hanged, burned, or even beheaded in the usual manner. So instead, a group of soldiers went into their room and stabbed them with dragonglass until they shattered.

And so the last of the Others broke apart into ice and melted away on the stone floors of the castle.

The Children of the Forest seemed almost somber after the Others’ execution, or perhaps they were just quietly relieved. Dany couldn’t tell. They sat for longs hours with Bran in the godswood, leaning against the heart tree. Dany joined them on occasion, though she saw nothing of the greensight dreams that they did. 

Slowly, the armies recovered and began to leave Winterfell. The winter storms did not make the passage south easy, but with the dwindling food supplies in the North, they had little other choice. The Tyrell armies were the first to go, riding out in a long column - though not as long as when they had arrived in Winterfell - and planning to return to the Reach. The knights of the Vale followed soon after. Then the northern lords and the mountain clansmen began to disperse, riding back to rebuild their respective homes out of whatever the wights had left behind.

The day the children returned to Winterfell from White Harbor was full of both joy and sorrow. Parents ran out to grab their sons and daughters, holding them tightly. But more than a few of the children came home to find that their family members had died in the battle. 

There were two children that still needed to be brought back, however. The first was Rickon, youngest of the Starks. Dany flew out to the strange island of Skagos herself and found him living in the care of a wildling woman called Osha. He was half feral, running across the Skagos moors and forests, dressed in unicorn pelts and with his black direwolf by his side. But Dany brought him home nonetheless, and his siblings were happy to see him. It had taken some doing to rig up a harness for Sycorax to carry the direwolf home, but seeing the Starks reunited once more, Dany thought it was worth it.

The second child was Shireen Baratheon, still living under Lyanna Mormont’s protection. It seemed that Queen Selyse had caught an illness on Bear Island and had died a week after Dany brought them there. Shireen had always seemed a gloomy child, and upon the news that her father and the fool, Patchface, had also died, she retreated into her sorrow even further. Her one comfort was being reunited with Ser Davos, who scooped her up in his arms as soon as Dany landed them back in Winterfell. It didn’t seem likely that Shireen would ever be a queen, as Stannis had wanted, but she would at least have a loving family, living with Ser Davos and his wife, Marya, in the Stormlands. It was something.

***

Aegon found Dany sometime in the weeks following the battle. He had been quieter since Jon Connington’s death, more reserved. He had lost nearly a fourth of his army and was waiting patiently enough for the rest to heal, but the Iron Throne had not left his mind. Dany was sitting alone in the Great Hall, thinking about how empty the castle had become, when Aegon came to sit with her.

“How are you, nephew?” she asked.

He ran his thumb over the sword, Blackfyre, which he still carried on his belt. 

“The war against the Others took a toll, more than I was expecting.”

With his silver hair and his rather tired and grim expression, he looked far older than he really was, like a man well past his best years. Dany wondered if she looked the same. 

“Your men fought well. They’re loyal, as far as sellswords go,” said Dany.

“After such a victory, it seems like every other problem in the world should just disappear, but they’re all still there, waiting for us.”

Dany stayed quiet. 

Soon enough Aegon continued, “The wars continue to devastate the Riverlands. Cersei refuses to give food or aid to the commonfolk.”

“And you’re the hero the country needs? You’ll stop all the wars and bring in an era of unrivaled peace and prosperity?”

Aegon narrowed his eyes at her.

“You made me a promise,” he said. “I brought my army north to help you fight the Others.”

“And I agreed to bring my dragon south to help you win the throne. I remember. And I’ll keep my promise. But I won’t harm civilians, only soldiers, and I won’t support you unless you do the same. And once I give you the Iron Throne, then our alliance is over.”

Aegon nodded. “It’s decided, then. We’ll leave in three days.” With that, he stood and left the Great Hall, his footsteps echoing across the cavernous room.

***

Irri and the khalasar insisted on coming with Dany, but Dany insisted they did not. Viserion needed to stay in Winterfell to heal and Dany didn’t want to sacrifice any of her friends’ lives to Aegon’s cause. It took a fair bit of begging and bargaining, but finally she got them to stay.

“You never stay as long as I want you to,” said Irri sadly.

Dany took her hand and kissed her on the forehead.

“It won’t be so long this time. After all, I’m only going to win a throne, not to save a whole world.”

Irri still looked glum, but Dany needed to know Irri would be safe. It didn’t seem fair to drag her into yet another war.

Dany’s bloodriders were not as easily convinced to stay behind. Dany only managed it by telling them that they must keep Irri and Viserion safe. They each looked skeptical, but they agreed. Dany hugged them and Jhiqui all goodbye, clasped hands with Stalwart Shield, and then went over to the Starks.

Sansa was up on her feet again, still moving gingerly, but making a recovery. Jon and Arya stood on either side of her, propping her up as they stood before the East Gate. Hodor had carried Bran out, and little Rickon stood by them, holding hands with Osha and looking a little unsure what was going on. He was still quite wild from his stay on Skagos, and he fidgeted and shuffled his feet around.

Aegon began to lead the Golden Company out of Winterfell, with Arianne Martell by his side and Harry Strickland just behind them. They would march the army to White Harbor, and then sail their ships to the Crownlands.

Dany was quiet for a moment, watching the train of soldiers as she stood next to Arya.

“Be careful down in the south,” said Jon.

“They aren’t as friendly as we are,” added Arya with a grin. Sansa gave her a nudge.

“Anything I should look out for, Bran?” Dany asked.

Bran looked at her, a concerned expression on his face.

“The southrons cut down almost all of their weirwood trees. I can’t see much outside of the North.”

“It’ll be a fun surprise, then.” 

Dany clapped him on the shoulder and went over to Sycorax, who was waiting saddled and ready outside the gates. She climbed up onto the dragon, who took off, kicking up a whirl of snow and ice behind her. Viserion bellowed mournfully from within the castle walls As they rose in the air, the column of Golden Company soldiers snaked beneath them and Dany looked back once more at the grey castle of Winterfell. It was damaged and beaten, but still standing strong, much like the survivors within it.


	49. One Last Promise

In Winterfell, the week following Daenerys’ departure was quiet and somewhat somber. Sansa was getting stronger every day and had begun fretting and planning over the food rations within the castle. Arya and Jon tried to help her as best the could, but secretly Jon suspected that Sansa wanted a little distraction. Irri was glum and spent most of her time with Bran and Meera in the godswood. Rickon seemed to be the only one among them in any sort of high spirits, and spent his days racing over the Winterfell rooftops, as Bran had once done. The Children of the Forest had taken a liking to the youngest Stark and often joined him, moving nimbly over the walls and roofs. Osha would catch him on occasion and yell at him that if he fell and died, she would kill him.

They unsealed the crypts beneath Winterfell, and Jon went down immediately. He visited Robb’s grave and his Uncle Neds, looking up into the stone faces of their statues. Then he went and stood before his mother, Lyanna. He hadn’t told his siblings about his true parentage yet, and he still wasn’t sure if he was going to. It made little different now, he supposed. 

The statue of Lyanna gazed fiercely back at Jon. His parents had fallen in love and started a war because of it. So many died just so Jon could be born. Still, he wished he could have known her.

_ Promise me, Ned _ , came a voice, a sort of whisper in the crypt.

***

When Aegon had first arrived in Westeros, his plan had been to conquer the Stormlands, gain support, and then to take King’s Landing once his army had grown. With a dragon flying with them, however, he did not need to wait. Aegon the First had used three dragons to win the Seven Kingdoms, but Aegon the Sixth was convinced he could do the same with only one.

The Golden Company sailed out of White Harbor, past the Vale, and within a few weeks, they were sailing into the Blackwater Bay. They passed Dragonstone, where Olenna and her grandchildren waited, though Dany hoped they would return to Highgarden soon enough. Margaery was determined to be queen, but given that Tommen would not likely be king for much longer, she would soon have little reason to stay in the Crownlands.

Dany and Sycorax flew once over King’s Landing. The neighborhood of Flea Bottom stretched out beneath them, a sprawling mass of dirty buildings, each leaning against the other as if they would fall without the support. Toward the Red Keep, everything became cleaner, grander, more elaborate. The city looked much the same as it had during Dany’s other visits, but quieter. The markets were empty, with the street merchants and sellers of curios hiding inside those ramshackle buildings. Dany assumed the nobles had all pulled back into the Red Keep, as looming and heavily fortified as it was. As such, the only people she saw were the soldiers, waiting behind the walls, at the Gates of Kings’ Landing, and all around the Red Keep. It seemed that while Dany and the rest had been fighting Others and wights in the North, Cersei had been pulling back her armies to defend the capital. A few scorpion bolts were fired at Sycorax, but the dragon stayed high above the walls. They banked around and flew back over the bay, where Aegon’s armada was beginning its assault from the sea.

There had been meetings, war councils, all throughout their journey southward. Harry Strictland and his officers of the Golden Company had gone over every detail of the assault with Aegon. Dany had sat in on some of them and ignored others. To them, her role was simple. She would take out the trebuchets, the scorpions, and the archers on the walls, and burn whatever Lannister armies got in her way.

Dany and Sycorax flew down low over the water, catching up to the flagship of the armada, where Aegon stood over the prow like some solemn figurehead. Arianne wasn’t with him this time, but Varys the Spider stood next to him. Varys looked over at Dany and narrowed his eyes like he knew what she was planning.

Dany looked down at the saddle, and at the extra ropes and chains that she had attached to it.

Sycorax began to beat her wings harder, pulling ahead of the ship and then raising higher into the air. They soared upward toward the Mud Gate, where the Lannisters waited. Some of the soldiers flinched as the dragon passed over them, expecting to meet their end in fire. They were ignored, however, and not burned. Sycorax kept flying.

The armies around the Red Keep were more ready for her and she was greeted there by a volley of ballista bolts, spears, and arrows. An arrow ricocheted off of Sycorax’s chest and plummeted back toward the ground. They circled the Keep once, burning a ring of fire around it. The soldiers crumbled away to ash and the ballistas cracked and shattered in the heat of the flame. Sycorax landed on top of the ashes on the wall and roared out at the city. Dany gave Sycorax a nudge and she leapt down into the courtyard.

This time, they did not stop and wait for the court to come out to them. Instead, Sycorax crashed through the doorway, breaking apart the heavy wooden doors, and walked into the throne room. Kingsguard and goldcloaks charged at them, but Sycorax burned them away before they could even touch her. Most of the nobility screamed and fled.

Beside the throne, Cersei’s smug grin had left her face and she clung to Tommen so tightly that he was wincing in pain. The High Sparrow was shouting something, but Sycorax whirled and struck him with her tail, sending him flying backward into the far wall. He hit it with a sickening crunch and fell limp to the floor.

Dany climbed down from Sycorax and walked over to the little king.

“Come with me, Tommen,” she said.

“No, no! You won’t take him away from me!” Cersei screamed.

Sycorax turned and knocked Cersei aside with the flick of her wing. It wasn’t quite as violet a hit as the High Sparrow had taken. Dany thought Cersei might even get back up from it. 

Tommen began to cry, but Dany lifted him up over her shoulder and carried him back to Sycorax. He fought against her, slamming his little fists against her back, but still, she managed to strap him down into the saddle.

Dany climbed back down and uncoiled the chain that she had tied to Sycorax’s saddle. It clanked against the stone floor, beating out a slow sort of beat to accompany Tommen’s wails. Dany wrapped the chain twice around the base of the monstrous throne, fastening it tight. Then she climbed up Sycorax’s wing and took her place at the front of the saddle, with Tommen just behind her.

 Cersei sat up and began to scream something, but Dany turned away. Sycorax moved back toward the broken doors of the throne room, with the throne dragging along behind her, making a horrible scraping sound as it went. Sycorax picked up speed and when the sunlight of the courtyard hit them, she leapt into the air. The Iron Throne was heavy and hard to carry, but the dragon managed to raise it into the air. She was straining hard, but she didn’t have far to carry it. 

They cleared the wall around the Red Keep, though just barely. The throne, swinging underneath them, knocked off a chunk of rock from the top. They gained a little height, covering the distance from the castle and back out to the Mud Gate.

The Golden Company had reached the beach and broken through the city wall in two places. It seemed they had managed a few solid strikes from the trebuchets they had mounted on the ships. The Lannisters were fighting back hard against them, though, and the Company had yet to move their armies into the city.

Aegon’s horse must have been killed, as he was fighting on foot when Dany spotted him. She flew down low, hovering over the battlefield. Several of the soldiers, Lannister and Golden Company alike, paused to watch Sycorax. Dany leaned down and released the chain that held the Iron Throne to the dragon’s saddle. With a whooshing sound, the chair plummeted down, landing so hard on the beach that it sent up a spray of sand like a wave. Aegon looked up at Dany, his mouth agape.

“Your throne, King Aegon,” she said, though not nearly loud enough for him to hear.

And then, Dany left them all behind, flying upwards and southwards, until all sounds of the battle went out of earshot and all that remained was Tommen’s sad sniffling.

Tommen stopped crying the farther they flew, as the hours passed and the forests below slowly turned into deserts. 

“Where are we going?” asked Tommen, after some time.

“To your sister, in Sunspear,” said Dany.

***

Prince Doran Martell was man of about fifty, though his illness made him seem far older. He was confined to a wheeled chair, with a thick blanket covering his legs, despite the Dornish heat. The joints of his fingers were swollen and red from the gout and he often kept them hidden under the blanket, as well. 

It was strange for Dany to feel such heat again, and she had missed it. She quickly shed her dragon cloak and her furs as she went to sit with Prince Doran on a balcony overlooking the gardens, where the children played. Dorne seemed so untouched. The snows had not drifted so far south, and the wars had not been fought there. Doran had lost his brother and two nieces in the fighting, but outwardly, they seemed unaffected. Almost.

Tommen had forgotten some of his sorrow when he was reunited with his sister, Myrcella. She was a clever girl, only a year older than her brother, but much taller. She had a jagged scar on her left cheek, which she tried to keep covered by her long hair. When she ran and whirled around in the garden, though, chasing after Tommen and Doran’s youngest son, Trystane, her hair would fly up, revealing her scar and her missing ear.

“A misguided attempt to provoke a war between Dorne and the Lannisters, done by a foolish knight,” Doran said, as explanation for the scar.

“Unsuccessful?” Dany asked.

“My daughter and nieces stand with Aegon against the Lannisters. So I suppose not entirely. I have no love for Lannisters, but I had hoped there would be a more subtle way to go about dethroning them. Aegon is a young man, though, and so many young men crave war.”

They were quiet for a moment, watching Myrcella splash Tommen with some water from a fountain.

“You know, when I was thirteen years old, I was supposed to come here,” said Dany.

Doran looked confused at that.

Dany continued, “I was supposed to marry a Dothraki horselord, but I ran away the night before the wedding. A exiled knight named Ser Jorah Mormont helped me to escape and told me to go to Sunspear in Dorne, to find Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn of Dorne, because they could keep me safe.”

Doran smiled at her, a tired sort of smile.

“I’m not sure we could have,” he said.

“Well, it all worked out, I suppose.”

“Yes, from the look of things, you have had a life more interesting than most.” Doran looked over at her and then leaned back in his chair to watch Sycorax drifting on thermals above them.

“I wouldn’t mind a slightly less interesting life.”

She sat back, too, and shut her eyes, listening to the sound of the fountains, the children, and the songbirds in the gardens. For a moment, she could pretend she was back in Astapor, sitting out on the terraces of Missandei’s step pyramid. She longed for it.

Dany opened her eyes and stood. She said her polite goodbyes to Prince Doran and then whistled to call Sycorax down from the sky. Tommen looked over at her as she climbed onto the dragon, an expression of anger and betrayal on his young face. He was alive, at least, even if his mother was not. Or perhaps Cersei had survived the Golden Company’s attack. Dany cared little either way.

Sycorax took off and flew up over the Water Gardens. And as they flew, they passed over the elephants that had once belonged to the Golden Company. They no longer wore their plated armor, but roamed through the fields around the palace, eating tree leaves and bathing in ponds, free from war for now. 

_ As they should be _ , thought Dany.


	50. Epilogue

_ Seven Years Later _

When Dany had lived in Braavos, there had been a famous concubine by the name of Yna One-Eye. How she had lost one of her eyes was a matter of some debate, but it was of little importance really. It was not for her lack of eye for which she was renowned, but rather for her ability to discern the future. It was said that with just one drop of blood on her tongue, Yna could see a person’s fate.

Dany did not have this ability. It seemed that her prophetic dreams had died with the Others and the future remained, as it did to most, a mystery to her. She didn’t mind too much. In fact, she was rather relieved to return to meaningless and nonsensical dreaming, and to put the prophecies behind her.

But sometimes, just sometimes, when she placed a drop of blood on her tongue, she could see the present.

Dany looked out over the golden-grassed fields of the Jogos Nhai, watching Irri ride with the hunters and the moonsinger on their striped zorses, all galloping across the plains. Above them soared a great black dragon and a smaller white one, scarred and missing a foot, but otherwise healed. Dany took out a dagger from her belt and pricked her the tip of her finger. She squeezed out one drop of blood onto her tongue and then closed her eyes, lying back into the grass of the hill upon which she sat.

With the metallic tang of blood in her mouth, she could see them, hazy at first, but coming slowly into sharper focus.

She saw the wall, seven hundred feet tall and made entirely of ice. It loomed up over the frozen northern landscapes, cracked down the middle, but still standing. There was a group of people standing within the broken part of it, looking out to the far north. Jon Snow was among them, holding the reins of a shaggy garron in one hand, while his other hand rested on the shoulder of Ghost.

“There’s more beyond this Wall than Others, you know,” said Tormund Giantsbane, climbing onto his own horse.

Bran was with them, as well, sitting on a horse and strapped into a saddle that looked to be of Tyrion’s design. He was staring up at the sky with milky white eyes. For a moment, Dany thought that he was looking right at her, through her vision. Then he blinked.

“What did you see?” asked Meera from beside him.

“I’m not sure.”

“Let’s go find out, then,” said Jon. He climbed up onto his garron.

The direwolves, Summer and Ghost, leapt forward first, leading the way into the forests north of the wall. The last of the giants, Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun followed them, with the last of the Children of the Forests sitting on his shoulders. Little Spear stood and took a deep breath, and for a moment Dany could feel the icy crispness of it in her own lungs. Jon, Bran, Meera, and Tormund were last, nudging their garrons forward through the snow.

“For the Queen of the North,” said Bran, smiling over at Jon.

***

Dany opened her eyes, looking once again at the Essos sky, with Sycorax and Viserion flying above her. One of the zorses made a odd sort of braying sound in the distance. Dany placed her cut finger back in her mouth and closed her eyes again.

This time, Dany found herself looking within Winterfell, where the Stark sisters sat together in the Great Hall, listening to a gathering of northern lords. Sansa was in the chair where her father had once sat, an unpretentious seat made of sturdy oak. She wore a gray dress with a white fur collar, but no cloak over her shoulders. The winter had lasted years in the North, Dany had heard, but it had passed as it always did. Summer had since returned. Encircling Sansa’s head was a silver crown, carved with a pattern of scales and direwolf heads. It suited her, Dany thought.

Beside Sansa, Arya’s gaze looked unfocused and bored, as the lords in the hall talked about agriculture and mining. Sansa leaned over to her and whispered, “Do you regret not going north with Jon and Bran?”

Arya thought about the question for a moment and then grinned.

“No, I’ll stay here awhile longer. Besides, who’ll keep you safe if I’m not here? Those idiots?” said Arya, nodding her head toward Sansa’s queensguard. 

Sansa forced herself not to giggle as they watched the seven knights standing beside the head table. Rickon Stark, nearly a man grown now, looked even more bored than Arya as he absentmindedly ran his hand over Shaggydog’s head. Beside him, Osha nudged him in the ribs. She was the only one of the knights who had not yet taken to wearing armor, preferring to wear lighter leathers and chainmail, though she had the same direwolf cloak of the queensguard around her shoulders. Then there was Gendry, called the Bull Knight because of his helm, which he carried under his arm. In the center was Podrick Payne, no longer a boyish squire. He had grown into a tall and capable young knight, though he still blushed a deep pink when Sansa caught him looking at her. Dany wondered if he might someday become the crown prince of the North, though that was really up to Sansa. On Podrick’s other side, were some of the remnants of the Night’s Watch, Dolorous Edd, Grenn, and Pyp, who had traded in their black cloaks for Stark colors.

Dany had lost track of what the lords were saying, but she listened once more when little Lyanna Mormont stood to talk - though she was not nearly as little as she had once been, and somehow she had grown even fiercer.

“Were you always a fool, or did a cow kick you in the head before this meeting of lords? To speak in such a way before your queen dishonors you,” Lyanna said to one of the Glovers.

Dany hadn’t heard what the man had said to deserve such a tongue lashing, but she did not envy him.

***

Dany carried herself to different visions after that.

She saw Tyrion Lannister and Shae walking along a bright beach with a spirited little girl. She was a niece of Tyrion’s, tall for her age and a little gangly. She had her father’s golden hair and her mother’s fierce determination, and her eyes were the same sapphire blue as the sea surrounding them.

“Better get you home to your parents,” said Shae, pulling the girl up into her arms.

Tyrion smiled and followed them both back toward the great stone hall that looked over the island of Tarth.

Dany blinked and the vision shifted. This time she saw another family on a beach, though this beach was rockier and the sea around it was more gray than blue. Shireen Baratheon was racing along it, followed by three young lads who Dany assumed to be the sons of Davos Seaworth. Shireen ran out onto a dock and leapt into a small fishing boat.

“Hurry up, Steffon,” she shouted at the youngest of the lads.

Davos came over the hill then. He had developed a slight limp, though he was still fairly nimble as he walked over the rocks.

“Home before dark, you four,” he called out to them.

Shireen pulled the rope from the dock, releasing the boat. She grinned and waved back at Davos.

Next, Dany saw the Tyrells, back in Highgarden, living amongst the vineyards and gardens there. Margaery didn’t get to be a queen in the end, but she seemed content enough where she was. Dany watched as Margaery and Loras rode alongside a handsome young knight, both eyeing him and smiling rather coquettishly at the man.

Dany saw Alysane Mormont and Asha Greyjoy, sailing a ship across a cold sea with a crew of Bear Islanders and Ironborn alike.

She saw the new Winterfell maester, Samwell Tarly, wandering through the libraries of Winterfell with a jangling chain around his neck and his sleeping toddler in his arms. The toddler’s mother, Gilly, was also asleep, though she was in one of the library chairs, with their two older children playing a game at her feet. Samwell smiled at them and continued on, up the stairs of the tower and into the rookery, where the ravens were kept. Theon and Jayne Poole were already in there, feeding the birds. Sam handed them a letter to send and Theon gently attached it to the raven. He lifted the bird in his crooked hands and released it.

And finally, Dany saw Aegon, sixth of his name and King of the Seven Kingdoms, though really it was only five kingdoms now. He had moved the Iron Throne back into the Red Keep and sat upon it, looking down on his court of nobility. Dany didn’t much envy him, sitting in the most uncomfortable chair in the world and listening to the most boring people in the world.

***

Dany felt a nudge on her shoulder. She blinked a few times and looked up to see Irri sitting over her. Dany sat up and kissed Irri lightly.

“Shall we fly for home tomorrow?” Irri asked, taking Dany’s hand.

“Had enough of riding zorses?”

“They’re so stubborn. I still prefer horses. Or Viserion.”

Dany squeezed her hand and then stood, pulling Irri to her feet after her. She led the way down the hill to say goodbye to the jhat, the chief of the Jogos Nhai tribe, and the moonsinger, the priestess and healer of the tribe.

The next morning, they climbed onto their dragons and flew away across the warm sky, waving to the Jogos Nhai below them as they went. Essos was a strange and wonderful place, and Dany had wanted to see more it. She and Irri had spent over a year travelling it. They had crossed the Dothraki Sea, where Khal Drogo led his khalasar and where his wild daughter raced her horse over the fields. They had gone to Asshai, and had checked to ensure the dead of Stygai were remaining in its fortress, not spreading out into the world. They had travelled to the island of Leng, where the people were stunningly tall and golden-eyed, and to Yi Ti, where the cities were so large, they made Meereen look like a farming village. And they had gone to the Plains of the Jogos Nhai to see the moonsingers. Now, however, it was time for them to return home once again.

As the day grew late and the sun sank in the west, the yellow bricks of Astapor came into view. Sycorax bellowed and was greeted by the familiar roar of Rhaegal. They circled the step pyramid where Queen Missandei lived with her husband, Grey Worm, and with her Unsullied guards and their families. They landed on the terrace. Rhaegal was waiting for them, his scales glittering emerald and gold in the sunset. He touched his nose to Dany’s hand and then leapt into the sky. Dany and Irri climbed onto the terrace, and the other two dragons followed after Rhaegal. 

Missandei ran out and hugged them both, as she did each time they returned from their travels. Grey Worm, just behind her, was more reserved, but he smiled, which was not something he ever used to do. 

They sat out on the balcony together and looked out over their city. In the fading light, Dany could still see the harpy statue perched over the Harbour Gate. It was dwarfed now by a newly constructed statue of a bronze dragon, which looked out over what had once been the Plaza of Punishment. Beyond the statues and the gate, the three dragons flew over the Bay of Dragons, dipping down into the water from time to time to snatch up fish. Astapor was quiet in the evening, and very peaceful.

Dany stood and walked to the edge of the balcony. She could see a small stone house on a hill, which sat just down the street from Missandei’s pyramid. It was a house where Dany and Irri would live when they weren’t travelling across Essos. It was small, with just a few rooms inside, and looked out on the bay. It had a bright red door and a courtyard with a lemon tree planted right outside their window.

Dany took a deep breath, and the air smelled like citrus and like salt from the sea. Irri stood and joined Dany, taking her hand. The moment would end, as all things did, but for now, standing on this balcony with her love and her friends and watching her children fly safely through the air, it was all that Dany had ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been fun writing this. Hope you enjoyed!


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